Broken
by sharim
Summary: Sometimes everything but the will to live is broken.
1. Default Chapter

Broken  
  
by Sharim  
  
[pic]  
  
TITLE: Broken  
  
AUTHOR: Sharim  
  
EMAIL: misssharim@yahoo.com.au  
  
STATUS: Completed.  
  
CATEGORY: Angst, drama, action.  
  
PAIRINGS: Sam/Jack  
  
SPOILERS: Minor for: Tok'ra, Singularity, Chain of Command.  
  
SEASON: Future  
  
SEQUEL/CHAPTERS: A series of 14 parts..  
  
RATING: R  
  
CONTENT WARNINGS: Violence, angst, language, implied rape. Character death.  
  
SUMMARY: Sometimes, everything but the will to live is broken.   
  
YEAR COMPLETED: 4 June 2002  
  
SIZE: over 200KB.  
  
ARCHIVE: Sam and Jack, yes please. Heliopolis, my site (http://thecartouche.topcities.com), fanfiction.net under 'sharim'.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. *sniff* Probably just as well, actually. Who knows *what* would happen if I took control!! The usual legal stuff. We all know it anyway...  
  
DEDICATION: In remembrance of Molly. I miss you sweetie.  
  
AUTHORS NOTE:  The biggest, most hugest thanks EVER to Hoodat. Who not only taught me how to review with word vbg but also went through the huge task of beta-ing this. And then rebat-aing. adn then rebeta-ing... Did I mention rebeta-ing? LOL. You rock hon!  
  
And the girls/guys at Workshop, who never flinched in answering my Bazillion and one questions!  
  
And as usual to Suds and Jo, simply because I owe it to them! (you also rock!). And of course to Sandy...  
  
Broken 1 & 2  
  
by Sharim    
  
~Prologue~  
  
Jochen shifted in the darkness. From where he was hiding in the shadows he could make out the shapes and forms of the encampment around him, all bathed in the reddish glow of the moons as they hung in the sky like giant jewels.  
  
Were Larya and Nicu here.  
  
Jochen smiled to himself and agreed silently, letting his eyes rest on the moons. They were large, for their purpose, washing this world with a red hue that lent to the evil permeating every inch of the planet. Nicu would have loved it; her enjoyment of dangerous situations had never yet failed to surprise him. He, on the other hand, would much rather be elsewhere - perhaps in the green forests of Pelman. He loved studying the races from ancient times and searching the night sky for answers.  
  
He was an astrologer at heart, but his profession was not always accommodating of his first loves.  
  
They shifted again, leg muscles tingling from the prolonged cramped position.  
  
Patience  
  
Once again, he smiled. Patience. Patience was something Jochen had plenty of, but Yalman lacked sorely. The amusement was not lost on him. "You are a fine one to be talking," he whispered quietly, his breath no more than a slight breeze caressing the treetops.  
  
The silent chuckle sounded throughout him, and once again they settled down into their watch.  
  
Yalman was growing impatient. "It will not be long now," Jochen reminded him, gently easing his fingers onto the cool grip of the zat'nik'tel. A shudder ran over him and his heart rate increased slightly. He kept his eyes focused on the band tied firmly to his wrist. Barely seconds later, it flashed a small pinprick of light twice, and they knew it was time.  
  
Silently they rose up from the shadows, running low across the dry and dusty earth towards the towering walls. Around him he could feel the others doing the same, their feet muffled on the loose soil and the sound of their breathing hidden beneath the call of the desert birds.  
  
* * *  
  
The water was a cool relief against her thirst, its oiliness slipping all too quickly down her throat and disappearing into the mysteries of her inner body.  
  
From somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind, a drawing sprang to light. Lines... tubes... curves... strange patterns depicting meaning... duodenum, small intestine... appendix... stomach.  
  
She blinked, confused by the images.  
  
Greedily she licked the inside of the cup, having learnt the art of extracting as much moisture from it as possible while not losing moisture in the form of spit as her tongue ran over the rough surface.  
  
And then it was gone. Everything; the food, the water... the one moment of silence and the absence of fear.  
  
She huddled almost pitifully against the other women, her bowl and cup lying abandoned amongst the others.  
  
This was the dangerous time. This was the time when they came for you, when they plucked you from the people and tormented you. Hurt you. Abused you.  
  
When they defiled you.  
  
A shudder raced through her, and she shrank even more, desperately pulling the tattered piece of cloth over her head to hide her soiled hair from view.  
  
They liked her hair.  
  
If she kept it hidden from them, then sometimes they couldn't find her and they made do with others.  
  
She huddled. She *buried* herself against the other women, but all the while she knew she was always forced to the outside of the huddle, because the other women knew. They knew the guards liked her, and if they took her then there was less chance of one of them being taken.  
  
She shuddered again. And then, she froze.  
  
The footsteps were heavy, all of them, clanking as the metal of their armour fell down against the slimy moss floor of their prison pit. Another footstep and she felt her meal threatening to escape through her mouth.  
  
It was the commander.  
  
The First Prime.  
  
She refused to move, refused to let her fingers relax on the rough material and to let it slip. She refused to look in his direction. She refused to show him her fear.  
  
He still knew the fear was there, despite her best efforts.  
  
The fear was always there.  
  
Except when they ate.  
  
When they ate, the guards didn't touch them.  
  
The footsteps stopped in front of her, and she caught a glimpse of the black boot, the pale glint of her reflection on its dark and polished surface.  
  
She felt nauseous again. For a second she wished she would throw up. On his boots.  
  
But then she would have no nourishment within her. Without nourishment, one did not survive.  
  
Why was she surviving? Why was she fighting to survive each day to endure more of the same?  
  
Her stomach heaved as his fist clamped over her shoulder.  
  
She shuddered again.  
  
And then she threw up. On his boots.  
  
He threw her backwards, roaring his anger at her.  
  
And she laughed.  
  
His fist struck her face, and the world spun. Once again, his hand bit into her arm and he dragged her to her feet.  
  
She would be punished for her insolence tonight, more so than usual. But she didn't care. It had been worth it.  
  
Still, as he dragged her through the hordes of prisoners and the sour scent of her vomit clogged her senses, she began to regret her rashness. She started fighting him, struggling against his hold.  
  
Once, in the darkness of near-forgotten memories, she recalled someone helping her. Someone fighting alongside her.  
  
Brown eyes.  
  
And a laugh.  
  
She struggled on vainly.  
  
But no one came to help.  
  
She wished she was still eating.  
  
* * *  
  
They always chose her, he realised with sorrow. The struggling woman was dragged away, her hoarse cries echoing through the room.  
  
Perhaps it was because she still fought.  
  
They had been here so long now... so long... and he couldn't remember her ever going willingly. He'd helped her once. Long ago, before he was chained every night.  
  
The Tiredness settled over him again.  
  
The Tiredness always came now, sooner and sooner everyday.  
  
He shifted, ignoring the ache in his leg. It would get better soon. It always did. It had to.  
  
The bonds were cold and hard, the metal chaffing into his callused wrists and biting away at the flesh.  
  
He was in the wrong place. The guard had put him in the wrong place, and the bonds were too small. He wriggled again, trying to get comfortable.  
  
Who was he kidding? He was never comfortable here anyway. Still... the discomfort was worse than usual.  
  
A sudden shout roused him from his dreamless doze, and his eyes flew open. He watched as someone sprinted across the floor, rushing towards the exit.  
  
The fool. The young, naive fool.  
  
The fool would soon learn. One didn't try to escape. The punishment was ten times worse for trying to escape than for anything else.  
  
He laughed to himself, as he watched the fool get captured.  
  
So much for learning. He'd been here for so long already, so many days and nights… and yet, he still hadn't learnt. The bonds were testimony to that.  
  
He stayed alert for a while longer, fighting off the temptation of sleep while observing the guards with interest. Eventually a guard came towards him, the red eyes glinting ominously within the metallic head.  
  
Metallic head.  
  
Metal.  
  
Ore.  
  
What he mined.  
  
They weren't really gods, were they? His heart screamed no, but his mind... his mind was beginning to die. To lose its integrity.  
  
He was getting confused.  
  
Jaffa.  
  
And he smiled in satisfaction as the word rolled across him. Jaffa.  
  
Jaffa were bad. Terrible.  
  
Not all of them.  
  
Some were good.  
  
They were all enslaved people.  
  
Freedom.  
  
Teal'c.  
  
He jerked awake as he was jolted to one side, the guard roughly undoing his bonds and pulling him to his feet. They were moving him back to his usual spot. Good. He liked his corner. He liked watching the moss grow.  
  
The building shook then, as though the gods themselves had grown tired with the ageless structure and decided to pull it apart. The walls crumbled. Stones and rocks hurtled from the roof and rained down on the people: guards and prisoners alike.  
  
He jumped sideways as a section of the roof fell down near him, and landed awkwardly on his leg as he fought for balance.  
  
Suddenly an entire section of the wall disappeared, and standing there, illuminated by the soft red glow of moons he had only glimpsed on one or two occasions, were several figures.  
  
He ran towards them.  
  
Why, he didn't know. All he knew was that he had to get to those people before anything else happened.  
  
He got closer to them, running towards them as the crowd surged away from them. Freedom. Safety. Escape.  
  
They represented hope, and he had to get to them.  
  
Another rumble sounded, and the sky behind them was illuminated with an orange light, casting the whole world into a glow almost as bright as day.  
  
He saw the man in front of him.  
  
Something shot through him. Recognition? The man's mouth opened, his eyes widened. Still, he kept running towards them.  
  
"Colonel? Jack?"  
  
He stumbled for a second, the man in front of him looked shocked, completely stunned.  
  
But the man also looked familiar.  
  
"Jack, what the… Where's Sam? Pernon, we've got a situation!"  
  
* * *  
  
Jochen shrank against the wall, pressing his figure close against the shadows as the guard walked past, dragging a struggling figure behind him. Red light glinted dully on gold hair. Yalman seethed with rage, the anger pumping heat throughout their veins. Yet, they remained silent, allowing the guard to take the woman.  
  
It was not their mission to stop him, and so they had no choice.  
  
Jochen thanked Yalman for holding the tears at bay, sparing them both the disgrace of emotion even though there would be no witness to it.  
  
"Change of plan." The communicator sprang to life in Jochen's hand. He stiffened automatically, pressing himself flatly against the wall.  
  
What is Selmak doing? Yalman hissed, a different rage surging through them.  
  
Jochen remained silent, frantically pushing at the communicator to turn it off. The guard was not all that far up the hall; the noise was incredibly dangerous and he wasn't willing to risk it.  
  
"We have reason to believe that some of the Tau'ri are on this planet. We are going to rescue them..." Jacob's voice rang clearly through the long stone passageway, bouncing off the cold walls and disappearing away into the open skies. Jochen cringed in fear.  
  
Just because he is a Tau'ri he believes that... Yalman started out bitterly, only to be shushed by Jochen.  
  
"Selmak, we can not change our plans this late!" Pernon's voice joined the echo of Selmak.  
  
"I am commander of this mission, Pernon, and Jacob's daughter is on this planet. What would you do if it was one of your host's off spring?" Selmak retorted, and for a second silence ensued. "If anyone sees either Major Carter, Dr. Jackson or Teal'c then you are to report in and do your best to get them out before this place blows, understood?"  
  
Jochen hesitated for a second. Yalman took over. We have seen Major Carter.  
  
"Is that Yalman?"  
  
Yes, Selmak.  
  
"Your mission was only secondary. Your objective now is to liberate her, understand?"  
  
Yes. And Yalman did understand, because Jochen's own daughter had been slave to the Goa'uld, and as he was one with Jochen he understood the pain that Selmak and Jacob were experiencing. We will liberate Major Carter, and if possible still destroy the barracks.  
  
"Thank you, Yalman. And Jochen."  
  
Briskly they flicked off the communicator. Further debate and argument would only lead to more danger and an increased chance of failure in their new mission.  
  
The room where the guard and Major Carter had entered was sealed with a large, golden door. It was the Prime's room, and Jochen trembled at the thought.  
  
Relax. Yalman instructed, and Jochen gratefully let his symbiote have control. He was squeamish and did not enjoy battles. They hesitated for a second, listening to the muffled thumps and cries sounding from inside the room, feeling the thickness of bile rise in their throats.  
  
With as much silence as possible, the door was slid open and Yalman sprang into the room, his hand shooting out and connecting solidly with the Prime's throat as the big Jaffa turned to face the intruders. He went down with a small, inarticulate sound and remained motionless.  
  
"You killed him!" Jochen surfaced, forgetting about the women scurrying across the floor, but rather focusing on the corpse lying at his feet. He hated that his hands were used to kill, even if it was not his mind that ordered the limbs to commit the act.  
  
Major Carter. Yalman stepped forwards slowly, his eyes flashing dull gold in the dingy room. My name is Yalman, I am Tok'ra.  
  
For a second the woman looked as though she would speak, but she then shrank back against the wall, shaking hysterically and pulling a tattered piece of cloth over her hair.  
  
"Major, we really must leave now. We are in very grave danger." Jochen stepped forwards, reaching out a tentative hand to help her stand.  
  
She bit him. Hard.  
  
He jerked back as her teeth sank into his flesh, the blood welling up and dripping on to the floor as he gazed dumbly at the injury.  
  
We do not have time for this. Yalman snapped irritably to Jochen, fear of being captured rising with each passing second. She will not come willingly, Jochen.  
  
Silently Jochen raised his weapon and readied it.  
  
When she finally raised her eyes to his, the resigned, hopelessness in them nearly caused him to lower the weapon. But he could not. They did not have time for this.  
  
The blue arc sped quickly across the room, and her eyes never left his until they closed and she shuddered slightly, slumping limply against the wall.  
  
* * *  
  
With a jerk the Teltak rose up from the ground and hovered in the sky. Jacob turned so that the nose was facing the Facility, and mere seconds later he was rewarded with the satisfying sight of an orange fireball rising up throughout the dark night sky. Success.  
  
On more than one count. Selmak said gently.  
  
Jacob swallowed roughly and turned the Teltak around, pretending to devote all his concentration to the mindless task of getting a Teltak into hyperdrive. Once this task was accomplished, he had no reason to avoid talking to Selmak.  
  
Selmak understood, and she didn't press him.  
  
Selmak would wait until he was ready. She would also decide for herself when he was ready and would make the first move if he didn't do it. Preferring to start the conversation out the way he wanted it to go, he finally spoke. "Jochen found her." Selmak chuckled at his reasoning, but didn't say anything. "They're pretty bad."  
  
I know.  
  
Jacob loved Selmak.  
  
It was odd, thinking about loving a snake-in-the-head, but he did. They'd been together for what, nearly eight years now? And each year he found it harder to imagine himself without Selmak.  
  
You want to see her. Selmak said eventually, breaking the silence they had fallen into.  
  
Jacob didn't answer. Yes, he wanted to see her... but... He swallowed roughly, trying to banish the images burning across his mind.  
  
He'd only gotten a brief glimpse of her as she was carried aboard, but it had been long enough for the images to be burned into his mind. Jacob shuddered at the memory. Sam, kicking and struggling – fighting like a wild thing. Her once bright hair and pale skin dulled with filth, a stale odour staining the air around her. An expression of terror on her bruised and battered face. His daughter… once so full of sparkle, intelligence and life reduced to such a pathetic travesty of her former self. It was terrifying to consider what she had been through. It scared him to see her now. Most of all… most of all it was her eyes that scared him.  
  
Her eyes were dead. Soulless. They weren't Sam's eyes.  
  
"She was... she was..."  
  
I know. Selmak soothed him gently, and it felt almost as though he was a young boy again, crying while his mother held him and brushed the hair from his forehead. I am sorry.  
  
Jacob swallowed roughly and stepped back from the control panels. He had to do this. He owed it to Sam.  
  
"Jochen..." He grated out, the name catching on his throat. Jochen. The one who had found her. The Tok'ra who had rescued his daughter for him. "Would you take control, please?"  
  
Jochen raised his wearied head from where he was slouching against the walls. Him? Take control? When there were far higher ranked Tok'ra present?  
  
"Yes." He rose soundlessly and passed Jacob Carter. Jacob looked like an old man. Jacob was an old man.  
  
Jacob watched as the young Tok'ra took the place at the helm, and noticed a rapidly healing wound on his left hand. A semicircular wound with teeth marks.  
  
She bit him. Sam had bitten him. A quiver of fear ran over him then. Had she changed that much? Had she really changed so much that she couldn't even recognise someone who was helping her from those who were hurting her?  
  
It was a Goa'uld prison world, Jacob. You know what they are like. Selmak reminded gently, and Jacob resolutely swallowed his emotions like the soldier that he was, and trudged determinedly towards the sleeping quarters.  
  
The Tok'ra he passed along the way remained silent. No one congratulated one another on the success of destroying Genda, no one praised Jacob's leadership skills; there was no laughter on board the ship.  
  
He stood outside the door, his hand hovering over it before rapping a firm staccato, requesting entrance. There was no answer.  
  
"Sam?" He waited, his whole being quivering. Suddenly it didn't matter where she'd been. It didn't matter that he thought he'd lost her. All that mattered was that she was alive, she was here and she was okay. Relatively. "Sam, are you in there?" It was a stupid question, he knew, but one he'd often called out to her when she'd hidden in her bedroom, retreating from the real world after her Mom had died.  
  
Still no answer.  
  
And that wasn't unusual either.  
  
So he followed the age-old tradition and slowly pushed to button to open the door. It slid open with a hiss, and he was surprised by the darkness in the room.  
  
"Sam?" The room seemed hollow, his voice bouncing around and jumping off the dark walls, teasing him.  
  
A muffled movement from the far right corner alerted him to where she was, and he cautiously upped the lights so that he could see her.  
  
His legs weakened and he leant heavily on the doorframe, swallowing roughly to try to hide his emotions.  
  
She was pressing herself against the wall, her whole being trembling as she clutched at the piece of burlap sack that covered her head and most of her face, the dirt on her stick-like arms caked on so thickly that he wouldn't have known her skin was fair.  
  
"Oh... Sam," he breathed out, his eyes smarting and desolation creeping through him.  
  
His girl. His little princess. "Oh... what have they done to you?" He murmured, stumbling forwards and dropping clumsily to his knees in front of her. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her skeletal frame close against his body, ignoring the odour.  
  
Without warning, she lashed out, her foot connecting solidly with his groin and her nails scratching into his face. With an anguished howl she propelled herself away from him, knocking him off balance and scuttling across the floor to crouch against the other corner, her teeth almost bared and her fingers clawed, ready to attack again.  
  
His cheeks were stinging, and the dull ache in his groin gave testimony to her defense training. But he couldn't move.  
  
He sat there, staring at her. Just watching her.  
  
She grew self conscious then; he could see it in her eyes as she slowly drew back into herself and once again pulled the burlap sack over her head, attempting to hide herself from the world. And from him.  
  
Jacob closed his eyes and sank back against the other wall.  
  
Damn the Goa'uld.  
  
Damn the things that had done this to her.  
  
Damn himself for not being there. For not protecting her.  
  
* * *  
  
He gained awareness slowly, the unusual feeling of the floor pulsating beneath him slowly bringing him to wakefulness.  
  
Instantly he was up and on his feet, pressing himself against the coldness of the unfamiliar metal walls.  
  
Metal.  
  
He pulled back and looked at it, feeling like a wild animal suddenly waking up in a new cage.  
  
This cage was smaller than the big hall where they had all been kept before. It was cleaner too, the walls were the sterile, dull grey colour of buffed metal and the floor was cold and smooth.  
  
There was a bed against the wall on one side, rumpled from where he had slept on it.  
  
But more important, and most incredulously, was the lack of smell.  
  
The lack of stink.  
  
It was *clean*.  
  
Was this another prison? Surely he wasn't being punished...  
  
Then he remembered. He remembered the prison collapsing. He remembered running. He remembered someone yelling something at him: A man, screaming for Sam.  
  
Sam.  
  
The word conjured images of a woman with bright, smiling blue eyes and hair just as bright. Sam.  
  
The woman.  
  
The woman the guards always took.  
  
He felt sick then, the meager contents of his stomach turning as bile and guilt rolled through his gut and up his throat.  
  
He dirtied the nice, smooth, clean floor then. He sat, staring at the sickness, his stomach still heaving.  
  
He was supposed to have helped her.  
  
~1~  
  
Hammond sat at his desk, idly pulling his pen over the paper.  
  
He was doodling.  
  
A man of his caliber, a Major General in the USAF was not supposed to doodle on documents bearing important looking blue seals and official looking stamps. But that knowledge didn't deter him. His pen still wandered aimlessly in the empty, white margins.  
  
The knock on his door jerked him from his reverie, and he sighed as he pushed the paper discreetly under another one and called, "Come."  
  
The door was pushed open and a frazzled looking Dr. Fraiser stepped into the room, her mouth taut and grim as she gazed at him.  
  
"I have the reports on SG-2, Sir," she said briskly.  
  
He waved a hand at her and she understood the familiar gesture, dropping quickly into her usual chair and placing the manila folders on her knees. She didn't need the folder, the conditions and observations of her patients all stored in her mind.  
  
"How are they doing?"  
  
"Major Letterman should be fine. His shoulder was only dislocated and his ribs are only bruised, not broken."  
  
"What about Callan?" Hammond interrupted.  
  
Fraiser sighed. She hadn't wanted to go straight to Callan; he was the worst of the lot.  
  
"It's not looking good, Sir," she said eventually, raising her eyes to meet his. "The blast threw him almost ten metres, according to Major Letterman. He has several cracked vertebrae, broken ribs, a broken arm and severe head trauma. That's not even listing his internal bleeding, ruptured spleen... He's in a coma at the moment, Sir, and quite frankly, I don't think he's going to wake up."  
  
Hammond sighed and picked up his pen, staring down at his desk.  
  
"Are you okay, Sir?" Fraiser asked hesitantly, watching Hammond.  
  
He smiled, but didn't look up to meet her gaze.  
  
"The first time I retired, I told Colonel O'Neill I was tired of sending teams through the gate, of having them come back harmed in some way..."  
  
Fraiser's eyes widened, but she didn't answer.  
  
"I'm tired of losing my people."  
  
She didn't know what to say. In all honesty, she felt the same. She wanted to start settling down. She wanted to find someone, to have someone when Cassie left home. The SGC simply didn't allow things like that to happen.  
  
"I'm tired of losing my patients," she said eventually, smoothing the folder anxiously.  
  
Hammond seemed to shake himself, and he looked up again, a genuine smile on his face. "I'm not about leave just yet," he stated, and she offered a grin in relief. "You'd better head on home, Dr. You're looking a bit worn."  
  
"Eight hours of surgery does that to a person, Sir." She slipped back into their bantering, and stood up slowly. "General..."  
  
He looked up, meeting her concerned eyes. "Janet?"  
  
"You don't lose everyone," she said softly.  
  
"I know."  
  
She turned to go, but a knock sounded on the door before her hand touched the handle. It flew open, and she stepped backwards awkwardly to prevent herself from being bowled over.  
  
"Sir!"  
  
"Sergeant!" Hammond frowned, annoyed at the man's rudeness.  
  
"Sir, there's a situation." The tone was hushed, but the underlying strain was present. Hammond sat forwards, and Fraiser paused before she walked out of the room, curiosity getting the better of her. "A man claiming to be General Carter is being held topside."  
  
"Jacob?"  
  
"Yes Sir. He's pretty cut up and annoyed, Sir."  
  
Hammond almost smiled. Cut up. Yes, Jacob would be cut up if he was apprehended.  
  
"Escort him down, please."  
  
"No, Sir."  
  
"No Sir?" Hammond queried, and flinched almost visibly. It was strange, but since O'Neill and his team had disappeared, most of the 'original' 'gaters had picked up on his sarcasm and his subtle way of being politely rude. Hammond himself was guilty of the habit.  
  
"He says that you and Dr. Fraiser have to go topside. And you might want to bring a medical team as well as a people like Colonel Ferretti and Siler."  
  
"Siler?" Fraiser blurted out, before remembering herself.  
  
"Did he say why?" Hammond ignored her slip.  
  
"No, Sir, but he seems pretty desperate."  
  
"We're on our way."  
  
* * *  
  
"What the hell took you so long?" Jacob greeted Hammond, Fraiser and the rest of the people behind them.  
  
"Good to see you too, Jacob," Hammond muttered, and was surprised to see a smile jerk bitterly at the corners of Jacob's mouth. "What's the problem?"  
  
"In there." Jacob jerked his arm over his shoulder, pointing into thin air. "The cargo ship." A second later the cloak was turned off and the ship appeared.  
  
"What is it?" Fraiser interrupted, studying the old man carefully. He had aged since Sam's disappearance; even Selmak's presence hadn't seemed to be able to slow the process any longer.  
  
"We... there was a mission... and..."  
  
George frowned.  
  
Jacob is finding this most difficult, General Hammond. Selmak's head dipped before her eyes flashed gold for a brief second. And to be honest, I find it difficult as well. If you would like to step inside... I advise that Dr. Fraiser enter first. It was added almost as an after thought, but had barely passed over Selmak's lips before Janet politely shouldered her way past the General and pushed onto the ship.  
  
Her eyes gazed around the room quickly. "Where is it?"  
  
"Through there." Jacob nodded towards the doors. "Take your pick."  
  
Janet frowned in confusion but remained silent. She stepped up to the closest door and waited as Jacob opened it for her.  
  
As the door hissed open, her eyes followed it up, and then focused on the dim room inside.  
  
A movement.  
  
She squinted, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she took a step forward, a form became visible. A form, huddled pathetically in a corner, with grimy, skeletal hands clutching desperately at something that resembled a burlap sack.  
  
A glint of light on dull gold.  
  
Fear and shock coursed through her body, a knot tightening in her stomach and winding up her oesophagus until she felt almost suffocated. The floor was hard and cold, her knees jarring terrible against the solid surface as she dropped to the ground, her hands clutching desperately at the dirty coverings.  
  
The harsh sound of sobbing was sounding around, hacking breaths torn deep from somewhere, and only as her hands slipped past those of the person in front of her and closed over the rough material, did she realise she was gasping for breath.  
  
But it wasn't her crying.  
  
It was the woman who struggled desperately against her deft hands.  
  
She was crying. Deep sobs of anguish bursting out haggardly from the fragile frame.  
  
The covers slipped, and then Janet did cry as her eyes rested on Sam's pale face.  
  
"Sam... oh... Shit, Sam..." She whispered, pulling the woman against herself and digging her fingers into the filthy material, almost as though she was refusing to let Sam go again, refusing to relinquish her hold.  
  
Sam struggled, trying to kick and squirm out of Janet's hold, but the doctor refused to let go, rocking the blond woman desperately backwards and forwards.  
  
The struggling subsided, and the weak body went almost limp, just lying in Janet's arms, the rocking motion never ceasing. Finally, Janet relaxed her hold, and Sam didn't move out of her embrace.  
  
* * *  
  
Hammond had spent many years watching his people. He watched them during briefings, when they were sitting up, eager and impatient to be off. He watched them during lectures and meetings, all bored and trying desperately to look interested. He watched them while they were in the infirmary, lying so still and quiet on the white beds, and he watched them when they were happy; relaxing and recovering.  
  
He had seen many personal habits and odd quirks during his time, and fidgeting was one of the most common. He himself wasn't really a fiddler or a fidgetter; being quite happy to lose himself in some thought without the need for his fingers to be occupied with something.  
  
Now though, he found himself fiddling. Fiddling with everything within reach and even stuff that wasn't within reach somehow managed to wind up in his fingers.  
  
He put the coffee cup down, and stared at it moodily. Coffee. He hadn't felt like coffee. Something much, *much* stronger had been on his wish list. But he was on duty, and coffee was the strongest substance allowed. So it had to do.  
  
The door swung open quietly, and a slumped Dr. Fraiser entered the room.  
  
"Callan just passed away, Sir," she whispered, not even waiting for an instruction to sit down.  
  
"What about Sam? And Jack?" Jacob Carter ignored her words, jumping straight the point.  
  
She sighed, and almost absently started playing with the papers she'd put down on the desk bare seconds ago. "It's not good, Sirs," she whispered, swallowing roughly before stilling her fingers and raising her eyes to meet theirs.  
  
Hammond closed his eyes. Not good. They weren't the words he had wanted to hear.  
  
"Colonel O'Neill is... well... he has severe injuries, Sir. It's impossible to say without further study just how many broken bones he's endured over the last year. He's suffering from severe malnutrition, hypothermia and dehydration. His left lung has collapsed due to a broken rib that punctured it... his heart rate is erratic... and that's only some of the physical problems, Sir." Janet sighed, rubbing at her head.  
  
Both Jacob and Hammond remained silent, waiting for her to continue. "If... if we can keep him stable, get some fluid and nutrients into him, he should pull through. He's currently sedated because he came round while we were stitching up some lacerations. I don't think he realised where he was because he started lashing out at us... but... We can't really do a mental evaluation until he's awake and lucid." Janet hated the words as they washed over her tongue, bittering everything in her mouth. Mental evaluation. Lucid. She shuddered internally.  
  
She couldn't stop though. This was her job. She was a doctor. She was supposed to treat people... her emotions shouldn't be interfering.  
  
"Sam... Major Carter..." Janet hesitated again, closing her eyes briefly. "Physically, I'd say she's in better condition than the Colonel. Her external injuries, wounds and so on are a lot less than those the Colonel has. She has more bruising, more shallow cuts - some of which are pretty badly infected - but no broken bones. Malnutrition, dehydration and hypothermia are also present just as badly as in the Colonel..." She trailed off, her eyes downcast.  
  
Jacob swallowed roughly.  
  
"She was raped," Janet whispered, studying her hands. Her hands were smooth and clean, the nails clipped short. Sam's fingers had been disgusting. Nails torn, chewed, cuticles bleeding, callused finger pads... scarred. Filthy. "The... the only good thing is that there shouldn't be any STD's. The Jaffa are all protected thanks to their symbiotes, and judging by the Colonel's appearance I'm pretty confident that none of the other prisoners were up to it." Janet paled as the words slipped out of her mouth. They sounded so harsh, too uncaring...  
  
"And that's a good thing?" Jacob hissed, clenching his fists and closing his eyes, as Janet visibly recoiled.  
  
"Jake..." Hammond said gently, putting a restraining hand across to rest on Jacob's arm. "It is a good thing."  
  
Jacob swallowed.  
  
"I... It's going to be hard for her," Janet said softly, whispering to her hands. "For the last year - probably longer, she's been used constantly." The words felt ugly. "She... before we sedated her she started panicking and fighting whenever one of the male nurses came near her. She doesn't even like the females being near her."  
  
"What about you?" Hammond asked.  
  
"She doesn't like it, but she's not fighting me."  
  
"It's a start," Jacob said tiredly. "Can I see her?"  
  
Janet hesitated. "I... Yes. She's sedated." Janet nodded.  
  
Jacob stood up.  
  
"What about Dr. Jackson and Teal'c?" Hammond asked as the chair scraped over the floor. "Were there any sign of them?"  
  
"No." Jacob shook his head, and then looked down almost guiltily. "We blew the prison, like I told you, and found Jack. I put word out, and one of our operatives - Jochen - had already seen her. We just ran. The place blew not even two minutes after we took off."  
  
"Is it destroyed completely?"  
  
"No." Jacob sighed. "We didn't have time. It'll take them a while to get the planet and the prisoners organised again, but it will come back online again soon."  
  
Hammond nodded and remained seated as they left the room.  
  
His fingers twitched and absently he picked up the pen.  
  
~2~  
  
She felt as though she was swimming.  
  
Swimming.  
  
Her lips curled as a half smiled played around their edges. Swimming.  
  
She used to love swimming. She used to love slipping and gliding through the water, moving without making a ripple. Sometimes she'd pretend she was a mermaid, and then she'd swim along the bottom, grazing her arms and the tops her feet along the bottom of the pool.  
  
The feel of the cold, clean water against her skin had been like silk, caressing every inch of her. It had been bliss.  
  
It was so long ago. Before the nightmare. Before *this*.  
  
She shifted, not willing yet to face the reality of her life. She still wanted to dream. She wanted to *swim*.  
  
The water had always felt so cold when she first got in, like a shock than ran right through her and made her core quiver with anticipation. A water baby, her Mom had teased her.  
  
Mark had laughed.  
  
She recoiled, jerking back with revulsion. She couldn't help it. Even in her dreams, her memories, they invaded -- bringing their filth and defilement into every corner of her world.  
  
Her eyes opened, and then blinked in confusion. Where was she?  
  
"Sam? Hi Sam." A gentle, smooth voice pulled her up completely from the cool depths of her dreams, and cemented reality into place around her. "How are you feeling?"  
  
She frowned. How was she feeling? Where was she?  
  
The woman's face hovering over her looked familiar. It looked friendly.  
  
She remembered laughing with this woman, sharing a joke. She couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed.  
  
"Sam?"  
  
Sam.  
  
A jolt ran over her. Sam. Sam. That was her name. Sam. She was Sam.  
  
She smiled then.  
  
"Janet," she croaked, the name feeling old and familiar, evoking a sense of comfort and relief.  
  
But it was false. How often had that sensation been evoked only for it to fall apart and dismantle itself quickly and cruelly in front of her eyes?  
  
Janet smiled, and her brown eyes glistened with moisture.  
  
Janet was crying, Sam realised dimly. "I missed you," Janet whispered, her hand touching Sam's forehead.  
  
Sam jerked, pulling away from the contact. Was this a joke? Was this another illusion forced onto her by those bastards who used her?  
  
A surprised look flitted across the careworn face above her, which was instantly replaced with a sorrowed smile of understanding.  
  
"You want a drink?" Janet asked, licking her own lips.  
  
Drink.  
  
Sam's throat felt thick and clogged, so dry and dusty that breathing was difficult. She nodded, ignoring the pain.  
  
The pain was a constant, and one learnt to ignore constants. It was the unexpected, the unusual that one had to be on the lookout for.  
  
A small plastic tube appeared in her view, and she eyed the white and red striped straw warily. What was it?  
  
"It's water." Janet offered the straw. "Only water."  
  
Suspicion flared. Only water. It was never 'only water'. There was always something in the extra water she was offered. Bad things. She turned her head away, refusing the offer. She could wait until everyone got water, and then she'd have some.  
  
"It's fine, Sam," Janet persisted. "Look." Carefully Janet raised the straw to her lips, and Sam watch silently as the water lever in the cup sank a centimetre. "I promise you, there's nothing in it."  
  
Sam was thirsty. She was so thirsty. But... Janet took another sipped and offered it to Sam again.  
  
Gingerly, so hesitantly that Janet could almost imagine the yellow teeth snapping back together, Sam opened her mouth and allowed Janet to insert the flimsy straw.  
  
The first sip was so hesitant that barely a drop of water made it up the straw. But the droplet was cool and refreshing on Sam's tongue, tasting cleaner and purer that anything she remembered. Greedily she took another swallow, pushing her head forwards in an attempt to get more quicker. It was so smooth, so clean...  
  
"Easy." Janet gently removed the straw from her lips.  
  
Betrayed. She knew it was too good to have been true.  
  
"Not too much at once. You can have some more later," Janet soothed, stroking Sam's forehead again. This time Sam only tensed beneath her hands, her aching muscles stiffening and tightening until she was as rigid as a board and her breathing coming in quick, shallow gasps.  
  
Janet removed her hand.  
  
"Try to get some rest, okay? I'll be back soon," she whispered.  
  
Sam's eyes followed her as Janet retreated, straining until the crisp white coat disappeared from her limited line of vision. She was confused, disorientated. Where were the harsh words? Why did she feel so comfortable? And why was she beginning to develop feelings of relief?  
  
Relief was bad. She shouldn't be feeling relief, because relief got your hopes up... and hope was always destroyed. Always.  
  
* * *  
  
His chest was on fire.  
  
He remembered once, long ago, when he was in Hell, how his chest had burnt. He remembered the way the searing flames had leapt in and out of his mouth, burning him raw.  
  
Hell.  
  
He would have chuckled if he hadn't had a tube down his throat.  
  
This felt familiar. It felt so eerily familiar it scared him. But it also relaxed him, because if it was familiar it meant that it had happened before, so he knew the routine.  
  
It was an old, near-forgotten routine, only experienced once, but he still remembered it.  
  
He remembered returning for the first time, escaping from the dark, stinking dungeons and screaming voices. He remembered feeling safe.  
  
He remembered a woman. A woman with blond hair, blue eyes and a gentle smile that had smoothed away worries the way her hand had smoothed back his hair.  
  
And he remembered a small boy.  
  
He closed his eyes. He didn't want to remember anymore, but the memories were still there.  
  
This time, this time there wouldn't be a small boy. There wouldn't be a woman with blond hair and blue eyes either.  
  
There wouldn't be a point to completing the routine.  
  
There were people in the room with him, he knew that much. In the back of his mind, he knew that this place was familiar to him; that he had been here before. He didn't feel fear or panic in this small room, just like he didn't feel fear or panic when the short woman with brown hair gazed at him. But... he didn't want to remember this place. He didn't want to remember everything about this place because that would mean thinking about *her*.  
  
Damn.  
  
Too late.  
  
He could see her clearly; he could hear her voice clearly.  
  
And the worst thing, the most awful, life-ending guilt settled onto him because he couldn't save her. He hadn't been able to help her.  
  
And that was why there was no point to completing the routine.  
  
* * *  
  
She opened her blue eyes slowly. Her gaze flitted around the room. She was clearly confused.  
  
He longed to reach for her – to hug her tightly. But he had tried to hold her on the ship and the memory of their last encounter held him firmly in place.  
  
Jacob watched as Janet offered her some water. She drank it slowly, warily watching the doctor fussing around her.  
  
"Sam, I have a surprise for you."  
  
He watched as his daughter flinched at the words, pure fear present in her eyes. She shrank back from Janet, shuddering beneath the sheets. Janet gazed back at him quickly, almost questioning him.  
  
"Sam... Your dad-"  
  
The words were barely uttered when Sam flew up, her eyes wide with panic as she gazed around the room, her limbs flailing wildly against Janet's attempts at soothing her.  
  
"It's okay, Sam." Jacob approached the bed quickly, horrified by the transformation of his daughter.  
  
An inarticulate sound bounced off the walls.  
  
"Get me some Haldol., quick! She needs to calm down before she hurts herself!" Janet called, desperately trying to keep Sam lying on the bed "Sam... calm down honey..."  
  
A nurse approached the bed, quickly fitting the syringe to the IV line.  
  
Sam shook of Janet's hands, yanking the lines out of her arm and propelling herself backwards, away from the nurse.  
  
Jacob caught hold of her and she turned on him, her nails scratching his face again as she tried to twist herself out of his grip.  
  
"I've got her." Jacob grunted, his head jerking backwards as Sam's fist connected with his jaw.  
  
The nurse handed Janet the syringe and grabbed hold of Sam's feet. She kicked at him furiously, her feet missing his face by inches.  
  
"Now!" Jacob ordered.  
  
Sam jerked, wrenching Jacob's arms as he held onto her.  
  
The syringe pierced flesh.  
  
Betrayal shone deep in blue eyes as they gazed up at Janet before finally falling closed.  
  
Jacob slowly released his hold on Sam's arms, gazing with dismay at the bruises that were already forming. "I'm sorry," he whispered.  
  
"It's not your fault." Janet put a hand on his arm. "It's mine. I should have seen it-"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You're a male, Jacob," she said softly, her hand brushing tenderly through Sam's sweat-soaked locks. Jacob watched her longingly, wishing that he was the one soothing Sam.  
  
He closed his eyes.  
  
"It'll probably be for the best if you don't see her again until... until she's better," Janet whispered.  
  
Jacob nodded, his eyes stinging.  
  
* * * 


	2. chapter 3 and 4

Broken 3 & 4  
  
by Sharim  
  
[pic]  
  
~3~  
  
TO:           Major General George Hammond, USAF  
  
FROM:         Dr. Major Janet Fraiser, USAF  
  
RE:           MEDICAL REPORT - MAJOR SAMANTHA CARTER  
  
8/10/05  
  
   
  
Patient is making a full physical recovery. As predicted, no STDs were present. Malnutrition has been cured, due to Intravenous Lines as patient has no appetite.  
  
Physically, Major Carter should be ready to return to light duties within a month, though mentally it is not believed she will be ready. The patient still refuses to co-operate, interact or communicate with any person. She also refuses to be in the presence of any males. With myself (Dr. Major Janet Fraiser) she continues to remain silent, though slight physical contact is permitted. She also indicates her wants and dislikes physically.  
  
Major Carter seems to like routine. Any disruption to a normal routine worries and confuses her. Given her current condition and the severe amount of trauma she has been exposed to, it would be unwise to force her into any unusual and complicated situations.  
  
Dr. Major Janet Fraiser  
  
* * *  
  
"Morning Sam." Janet smiled, breezing into the room and placing the tray carefully on the small bedside table.  
  
A small smile was offered in return.  
  
"Great breakfast this morning. We have toast, an orange... and coffee." Janet pulled back a lid, revealing it to Sam.  
  
Sam gazed at it almost listlessly, before staring up at the ceiling again.  
  
"Sam..." Janet sighed, rubbing tiredly at her forehead. God she was tired, so tired that the word 'tired' didn't even begin to describe it. Even exhausted didn't come close.  
  
"Not hungry," Sam whispered, not looking at Janet.  
  
A flutter of excitement rushed through Janet.  
  
"You didn't eat anything last night either, did you?" Janet said gently, pretending to ignore the fact that after nearly a month, Sam had finally spoken.  
  
"Not hungry," Sam repeated more firmly, her eyes fixed determinedly on the ceiling.  
  
"I know. But if you don't eat we're going to have to put you back on a drip..." Janet said gently, busying herself with the flower arrangements.  
  
"Not hungry." It was definitely sounding mulish and even argumentative now. Janet nearly grinned from ear to ear, but held it firmly in check.  
  
"Sam..." Janet paused, licking her lips before she turned around to look at the woman lying on the bed. "You have to eat something."  
  
Sam turned her gaze onto the doctor, the now familiar blankness in the blue eyes was becoming oddly reassuring to Janet, and she knew that was a bad sign.  
  
Janet walked over to the tray and picked up the toast, scrutinising it thoughtfully.  
  
"You know what, you're right," she said, dropping it carelessly onto the plate. "It's not appetising. It's cold, hard and dry," she listed.  
  
Sam turned to her, worried by this strange change in their routine.  
  
"So I'll get you something nice. I'll get you some cookies like Daniel used- "  
  
"NO!" Sam screamed, jerking away from Janet and curling up into a ball, facing the wall. "NO! No no no no..." She continued, clawing at her ears, blocking them so that Janet's unfinished sentence wouldn't penetrate her mind.  
  
"Sam... I'm sorry..." Janet whispered, fear stabbing at her. Too much. She hadn't thought about what she'd been saying, just said the first thing that came to mind. Too much too soon, she realised too late. "I'm sorry." She sat on the bed, placing a caring hand on Sam's shoulder.  
  
The blond was out of the bed and stumbling across the floor before Janet had even realised the sudden scream sounding around the room had emerged from Sam's mouth.  
  
"Don't touch me!" Sam screamed, covering herself with the sheet that she'd dragged with her from the bed. "DON'T!"  
  
"Okay. Okay!" Janet held up her hands, stepping backwards.  
  
The bed was between them now, its bedding strewn about the floor. Janet watched as Sam rocked herself furiously under the sheet, a steady, unchanging rhythm that she recognised as the same rhythm she had used that first day when Sam had returned.  
  
"What's going on in here?" Hammond's voice broke the bubble that had descended over them, and instantly Sam stiffened beneath her sheet. "Dr. Fraiser?"  
  
"Sh!" Janet hissed, watching as Sam stopped moving. "Sam?"  
  
There was silence.  
  
"Sam, honey... get back in bed please."  
  
The bundle shuffled, but towards the corner between the table and the wall.  
  
"Sam, the bed isn't that way," Janet spoke gently.  
  
"Is everything okay?" Hammond whispered, confusion in his eyes.  
  
"No sir, it isn't." Janet sighed as the sheet was pulled even tighter over the trembling form and Sam squashed herself into the tiny gap between the furniture and the wall.  
  
* * *  
  
"You wanted to see me, Sir?" Janet sank into her chair.  
  
Hammond nodded, looking up slowly from his paper. "What happened?"  
  
Janet didn't have to be a genius to know that he was referring to the 'incident' in the infirmary. "She spoke to me."  
  
Hammond raised a non-existent eyebrow. "And?" he asked carefully.  
  
"I... I said the wrong thing, Sir," Janet admitted, anger and defeat washing over her. Along with guilt. Guilt that she hadn't thought about what she was saying. "I'm... I'm afraid that we're back where we started with her."  
  
Hammond pursed his lips.  
  
"And the Colonel?"  
  
"Still the same. No change at all." Janet didn't want to hear it.  
  
"McKenzie wants..."  
  
"No." Janet shook her head, cutting the General off before he could finish. "No. I don't want him *near* them."  
  
"Janet..." George sighed.  
  
"And General Carter made it quite clear that he doesn't want him near Sam either. Besides, he's male," she added almost as an after thought.  
  
Hammond nodded slowly. "Janet," he said gently.  
  
She looked up at him, forcing the tears to stay away.  
  
"It's not working this way."  
  
"I know," she admitted. And the walls came down and tears ran down her cheeks. "I've been trying... for a month already and we're still exactly where we were. I know you've got to be patient... I know that... But..."  
  
"It's okay." Hammond opened a drawer and pulled out a box of tissues. "Maybe we just need a different strategy."  
  
Janet sniffed, dabbing at her eyes roughly. "I don't *have* any other strategies." She pointed out, her voice as brittle as her emotions.  
  
"I've been talking to McKenzie..." Hammond looked slightly guilty as the admission crossed his lips, but he plowed on. "He seems to think that they were brought out of one environment and placed into another one too quickly."  
  
Janet frowned. "So what, we just let them get dirty and hungry again?"  
  
"No." Hammond shook his head. "We just give them some familiars."  
  
"Like a security blanket?" Janet asked slowly, a grudging admiration for McKenzie growing in her mind. She'd overlooked that thought, she knew, and it was because of her emotional involvement with the patients.  
  
"Yes." Hammond nodded. "What's the one thing they both had?"  
  
Janet frowned. Then her eyes widened. "You can't be serious."  
  
"I am." Hammond nodded again. "McKenzie's convinced me," he admitted again.  
  
"I... I don't think it's a good idea. You *know* how Sam is..."  
  
"I know," Hammond agreed. "But what other alternative do we have? It's not like we have any ground to lose already." He pointed out.  
  
Janet silently conceded his point. "Okay," she whispered. "Okay. We let them meet on neutral territory."  
  
~4~  
  
He wished he had a window.  
  
But he wasn't going to ask for one. The minute he started getting comfortable... the minute he allowed the good thoughts and feelings in... Wham. They'd be taken again. An experience he knew all too well.  
  
So he stared at the wall.  
  
It wasn't as interesting as a window might have been, but it was interesting enough. It was blank, and he could quite happily stare at the wall all day and let his mind go just as blank as the wall. Hell, he *did* stare at the wall all day and let his mind go blank.  
  
And he waited.  
  
He never used to be good at waiting, at passing the time so happily. But now... now he was *happy* for time to crawl by. He was happy it went so slowly. The only thing he wished was that it went slower. That way, when the sloppy matter hit the fan again it would seem as if it was further away. Dumb reasoning, he knew, but wasn't that always the case anyway? At least, that's what *she'd* told him once...  
  
He glared at the wall. Damn the blank, uninteresting surface. Sometimes his mind *didn't* go blank. And then he thought. He thought about *everything*, including *her* and he didn't want to think about *her* or any of the others.  
  
The others.  
  
Damn.  
  
He really should ask for a window.  
  
He heard the door to his room opening.  
  
"Afternoon Colonel." Oh. It was her. Janet. The doctor. The one that used to like jamming him full of needles. STOP! Don't think about what used to be. It's gone.  
  
He stared at the wall with an effort, begging his mind to go blank.  
  
But it wouldn't go blank.  
  
He remembered this. He remembered how his mind had stopped going blank after a while, and the woman with blond hair and blue eyes, and the small boy had been reintroduced to his life. He remembered how the more he fought; the harder it was to keep his mind blank.  
  
And then he'd stopped wanting his mind to go blank. So it had stopped going blank.  
  
And now it was happening again. Only, this time there wasn't anything to cause him to want his mind to stop going blank, and his mind still refused to go blank.  
  
It was getting too confusing. It did last time as well: when his mind stopped being blank the thoughts became confusing. Just like now.  
  
The wall seemed further away.  
  
It *was* further away.  
  
His mouth opened and he almost yelled out, almost begged for her to stop pulling him away from the wall. He didn't want to go for a ride. He didn't want to leave his wall.  
  
But acknowledging that would mean acknowledging that his mind wasn't blank anymore, and that would allow the feelings in again.  
  
So he kept silent, and stared into space as she wheeled him out of his room, out of his refuge.  
  
* * *  
  
TO:             Major General George Hammond, USAF  
  
FROM:           Dr. Colonel Warren McKenzie, USAF  
  
RE:             PSYCHOLOGICAL EVALUATION   
  
                       - COLONEL JONATHON 'JACK' O'NEILL  
  
8/10/05  
  
   
  
Patient refuses to respond to any stimulation. This is considered 'normal' for him, given his previous reaction to a similar situation upon return from Iraqi prisons (appendix A), and therefore we are confident that given the right trigger, Colonel O'Neill will recover from this.  
  
Dr. Colonel Warren McKenzie  
  
* * *  
  
They're tried to take her sheet away from her.  
  
She hadn't let them.  
  
Her sheet had remained firmly over her body, her pale, stick-like fingers holding it in place like a vice. And they'd relented, unable to get her to relinquish her cover or come out of her corner.  
  
"Sam."  
  
She recognised that voice, and felt her satisfaction slip. Janet. Janet could always get in past her defences. Why? Why could Janet do that?  
  
"Sam, come on." A hand brushed her shoulder. Instinctively Sam jerked back, her sheet covered head impacting against the wall with a resounding crack. She refused to move.  
  
"Sam, either you get out now or I'm going to get someone in here to help me."  
  
Someone to help Janet. That meant being touched.  
  
Sam shuddered.  
  
No. She didn't want to be touched; she didn't want other people near her. Only Janet. Janet was the only person she'd allow.  
  
Feeling like a school child, Sam crept out of her hiding place.  
  
"And the sheet." She could picture Janet standing with her hand held out, waiting for the sheet to be handed to her. No. Sam wasn't going to give up the sheet. Not this time.  
  
Defiantly she clutched the sheet closer.  
  
"Okay, fine," Janet snapped, losing patience. "That's fine, you keep the dumb sheet. Come on." She felt Janet's hand touch her elbow, trying to get her to stand up on her feet. Sam didn't want to. She didn't want to stand up, so she jerked away, scuttling backwards like a hermit crab.  
  
"Sam, not now," Janet snapped.  
  
Janet was annoyed. Sam couldn't remember Janet being annoyed at her. She hesitated.  
  
"Just stand up, please. You can sit down if you'll just stand up and come here."  
  
Warily, still scared at this new change in their routine, Sam rose to her feet.  
  
She didn't like change. She liked things the way they were, knowing when to expect food, when to expect visits from Janet, when to expect flower deliveries. She even knew when to expect the other nurses that came in when Janet went home.  
  
Home.  
  
Sam missed home, she realised dimly. She missed having her own, clean, tidy house with a soft bed and colourful quilt.  
  
"Good girl. Come on." Janet's hand once again connected with her elbow, but this time Sam didn't jerk away. Shakily she stepped forwards, allowing Janet to guide her.  
  
She looked down, out through the folds as the sheet hung around her, covering her. She imagined that she looked like a ghost, a ghost that no one could see.  
  
She liked that idea. No one could see her because she was an invisible ghost.  
  
A smile rested on her lips. Invisible.  
  
"Okay... sit down."  
  
She sat down.  
  
"Now... We're going to go for a little ride, okay?" Janet conversed gently, sounding almost unsure of herself.  
  
Sam didn't want to go for a ride. She didn't want people looking at her. She didn't want the *men* to see her. Not ever. She opened her mouth, ready to protest and flee. But then she remembered. A ghost. A ghost no one could see.  
  
Quickly she pulled her feet up and curled up on the wheelchair, her sheet pulled tightly around her and making her invisible.  
  
* * *  
  
She was unsure about this. There were too many doubts nagging at her. She felt about as confident that McKenzie's plan would work as she did that Daniel and Teal'c were still out there.  
  
In all honesty, she had been expecting more of a protest from Sam. She hadn't been expecting anything from Jack, and he hadn't done anything. But she'd been expecting protest and argument, physical striking out even, from Sam.  
  
She hadn't gotten any though.  
  
Sam had sat down on the wheel chair, as quiet as a lamb with her white sheet firmly pulled over her.  
  
Janet felt like a mother again. Cassie was grown up now, nearly an adult in her own right. She didn't need coddling and babying anymore. But Sam... Sam was like an infant. And Janet was her mother, and like a mother, Janet was worried if this was the best thing to do. But she didn't have a choice in the matter.  
  
"Nearly there, Sam," Janet soothed; placing a gentle hand on what she assumed was Sam's head. The body beneath her hand stiffened, but not a sound or other movement was made. Concern washed over her.  
  
This was new. It was different behaviour. Sam was always definite with physical actions, making her likes and dislikes painfully obvious, while still refusing to speak. Now... now she was deadly quiet and going along with what Janet was doing. It was unusual, and Janet was worried.  
  
The Colonel was sitting in the room, exactly like she'd left him: His legs covered with a blanket and his hands folded limply in his lap. He reminded her of an old man alone in hospital, just gazing out of the window.  
  
Except he didn't have a window.  
  
Did he ever get bored just looking at the wall?  
  
She eyed his hands carefully, but sighed in disappointment. They hadn't moved. He hadn't fidgeted, or even shifted.  
  
What had happened to the man who couldn't sit still for more than two seconds?  
  
She knew Hammond and McKenzie were watching them... and looked up nervously at the surveillance camera. The black lens eye stared unblinkingly down on her.  
  
"Colonel... I've brought you a visitor," she announced carefully.  
  
If Sam had been motionless before, she was frozen now. The Colonel in his wheelchair didn't move; his eyes didn't flicker; he didn't even blink.  
  
"Sam..." Janet whispered, leaning down so that her mouth was close to the sheet. "Sam... get up, honey."  
  
Sam refused. She didn't move.  
  
"Come on. We're at our stop."  
  
The sheet moved, but it was only pulled even tighter against the rigid body.  
  
Janet sighed.  
  
It was ridiculous. Sam was a grown woman, nearly in her forty's, and she was *hiding* under a sheet, refusing to move like a *four* year old.  
  
"Grow up Sam," Janet muttered under her breath and stood up.  
  
She was tired. She was stressed, concerned, scared, worried, lost... she wanted her friends to get better.  
  
"You know, this is why they don't recommend you treating your friends." She spoke matter-of-factly, pushing the wheelchair directly into the Colonel's line of vision - if he looked at anything that was. "You get impatient because you *know* that what they are like is far from what they were like. Major Carter, remove that sheet from your head this instant. And that's an order." She snapped, yanking at the sheet.  
  
Sam yanked back.  
  
Janet yanked again, harder and longer.  
  
A squeal of some sort sounded from under the sheet, and Janet pulled again. Harder.  
  
"NO!" Sam's voice cut across them clearly. "NO! I want to be invisible!"  
  
Janet stopped, shocked for a second, and then pulled again. "You aren't invisible. You are hiding under a *sheet*, Sam. Now let go."  
  
"Dr. Fraiser, what do you think you're doing?" McKenzie's voice barged throughout the room. "The effect this could have on the patient..."  
  
Sam heard the masculine tones and panicked. She snatched at the sheet, jerking away from Janet. Her momentum carried her forwards, and the wheelchair flew backwards. With a grunt she slapped against the floor.  
  
O'Neill didn't blink.  
  
Janet snatched the sheet away. "Treating my patients," she retorted.  
  
And then the guilt set in. What had she just done? You were supposed to be patient with them, she scolded herself, her mouth open as she gazed down at Sam.  
  
The sheet, in all the confusion, had moved so that her tousled blond head was sticking up, the blue eyes gazing up angrily from the floor.  
  
"Sam, are you... shit... I didn't mean..."  
  
"Dr. Fraiser!"  
  
"Not now!" She nearly screamed, crouching over Sam.  
  
Then she froze, her hands stilling on the pale face. A noise. From behind her. Slowly she turned, half dreading what she might find.  
  
O'Neill had moved. His hands were now gripping the wheelchair tightly, so tightly that his pale knuckles gleamed white and the wasted sinews in his bony arms were strung taut.  
  
"Carter," he gasped.  
  
The whisper washed over the room, seeming to bounce and echo off the walls, crowding around until Janet felt deafened beneath the onslaught.  
  
Sam jerked upright, her sheet forgotten as she staggered against the wheelchair, blue eyes focused on the unmoving figure opposite her.  
  
"Don't..." Sam snarled, her lips curled back. Janet moved to help the woman, surprised as the frail arms lashed out roughly, full of strength and muscle. "Don't say it." Sam hissed, ignoring Janet.  
  
And then Janet realised that it wasn't fear in Sam's eyes. It was anger.  
  
"I..."  
  
"NO!" The word cut across the room, and Janet flinched across the tone. "Don't. This is your fault. All of it."  
  
O'Neill sank into his chair, his frame seeming to crumple beneath Sam's stare. "I know," he whispered hoarsely.  
  
"I don't know why-" Sam cut herself off abruptly. "You're pathetic," she taunted, straightening and stepping towards him. "You let this happen. Look at you. You're not even doing anything to help. You *didn't* do anything to help."  
  
"I tried," he defended, trying to raise himself up out of the chair. He failed miserably, his broken and shattered limbs lacking the strength to support is large frame. "God, you know I tried!"  
  
"What about now?"  
  
There was a deafening silence in the room, and O'Neill lowered his eyes. Then he raised them, fire flashing in their brown depths. "What about you? I'm not the one hiding under a sheet."  
  
Sam stiffened, her cheeks pale and her lips pulled into a straight line. "I don't want to see you again. Ever." She whispered.  
  
Janet didn't move as Sam staggered out of the room. She didn't move as O'Neill seemed to shrivel back into his chair.  
  
"Dr. Fraiser..."  
  
"What?" She turned to the SF appearing in the doorway.  
  
"Major Carter just collapsed in the hallway..."  
  
She forgot her confusion and anger, and ran to her friend.  
  
* * *  
  
"How is she now?" Hammond asked gently, fiddling anxiously with his mug.  
  
"Sedated. It was just too much for her."  
  
A muffled sigh ran around the room.  
  
"We got a message from the Tok'ra. Jacob will probably be back on earth by tomorrow." Hammond broke the silence. "He might have some information..."  
  
Janet sighed. "Sir... this isn't unusual," she said gently. "They've been POW for over a year, in worse conditions than you'll probably find anywhere on this planet, judging by their conditions."  
  
"I know," Hammond nodded. "I was talking about Teal'c and Dr. Jackson."  
  
"Oh." Janet fell silent again.  
  
"Perhaps we should talk to them..."  
  
"No." Janet interrupted McKenzie, turning to the General. "This morning, when I mentioned Daniel's name in reference to something that happened a long time ago... it caused the whole situation you walked in on," she admitted.  
  
"I have been talking to the Colonel, and he refuses to discuss Major Carter," McKenzie added.  
  
"He refuses to discuss anything," Janet pointed out dryly.  
  
Hammond rubbed at his face. "So what now?"  
  
"I don't know. We wait, Sir. And keep trying." Janet leant back in her chair. "There... there isn't really much else that we can do until they decide that they want to recover."  
  
McKenzie nodded in agreement. "Until they're willing to talk, I doubt we'll be able to help them."  
  
* * * 


	3. chapter 5 and 6

Broken 5 & 6  
  
by Sharim  
  
~5~  
  
There was a small part of her, somewhere in the back of her mind, that was still uneasy. But she stamped down on it, ruthlessly, killing it and discarding it. She was stronger that the fear. She was stronger than what They had said she was.  
  
She would be fine.  
  
"Morning Sam." Once again, the regular routine.  
  
"Morning Janet."  
  
Janet blinked, looking at her.  
  
A smugness rose within her. "What's for breakfast?" She asked.  
  
"Toast... orange.... Sam?"  
  
"Any spreads?" Sam asked, sitting up in the bed.  
  
"What's going on?" Janet demanded, placing the tray deliberately out of read and turning to face the blond woman.  
  
"What do you mean?" Sam eyed the tray. If she was honest with herself, she'd have to admit that she was quite enjoying the game.  
  
"Yesterday morning..."  
  
A shadow or fear, a brush of panic flitted over her, but again she squashed it before it could do any damage.  
  
"Yesterday morning was yesterday morning." She said calmly, eyeing the doctor warily. "I'm fine now."  
  
Janet raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"  
  
"Yes, really." Sam nodded. "Could I at least have the coffee?"  
  
Janet sighed and handed it over, watching as Sam's hand steadily held the Styrofoam cup. "It's... it's just a little hard to be exactly sure what's going on..." Janet frowned, sitting herself down on the bed next to Sam.  
  
Involuntarily, Sam tensed, jerking the mug and spilling the hot liquid on the crisp white sheets. Janet raised an eyebrow, smiling gently.  
  
Sam sighed and put the mug down, her shoulders slumping.  
  
"I'm tired," she whispered.  
  
Janet touched her cheek gently, unfazed as Sam jerked away again. "I know," she agreed, "but you'll be fine."  
  
"I'm... it's so hard, Janet," Sam continued, stilling under Janet's careful hands. "I just... I *want* to be fine."  
  
Janet smiled and put her hands on either side of Sam's face, lifting until Sam looked her in the eye. "I know that. And you will be. But it doesn't just happen like that," she said gently.  
  
Sam sighed in frustration, pulling her head out of Janet's hold.  
  
Janet pulled back to herself, watching Sam. "How do you feel?" She asked eventually.  
  
"Tired," Sam said instantly.  
  
"Scared?"  
  
"No." Sam shook her head. "I... I'm not scared. But... but when..." The sentence trailed off.  
  
"You won't always be scared." Janet reached out again, and again Sam jerked back.  
  
"I don't like people touching me," Sam whispered plaintively.  
  
Janet nodded, and kept still.  
  
"And I don't like people looked at me," Sam continued, her voice fading away. "I just want to go home, Janet."  
  
"Soon. If you promise me to keep trying and to let me help then you'll be allowed to go home soon," Janet promised.  
  
Hopefully Sam raised her eyes up to Janet. "And... and the SGC?"  
  
Janet smiled, amusement on her face. "You haven't changed, have you?"  
  
Fine lines around Sam's eyes crinkled slightly, and as the muscles around her mouth twitched, Janet knew that they'd made a start.  
  
* * *  
  
O'Neill stared at the wall.  
  
There was a crack in it. A long, single, solitary crack that wound its way up the wall, curling and twisting and careening away... but it reached the roof eventually.  
  
He sighed.  
  
The wall was white.  
  
White.  
  
Boring, plain, disinfected white.  
  
He was bored. Plain and simple. Bored out of his mind.  
  
But he was also scared out of his mind.  
  
The frustration was building within him. The wall wasn't keeping his mind blank anymore. The wall was boring.  
  
But, another part of him argued, boring was good. Boring meant no chance of unexpected surprises, it meant no unwelcome excitement. It meant no more swinging emotions. It meant no stress.  
  
Except of course the stress placed on him by his boredom.  
  
"How are we feeling this morning, Colonel?" He hated that voice. He didn't only hate the voice though; he hated the man that the voice belonged to as well. "Have a good breakfast?"  
  
"If you like toast that tasted like cardboard, sure." He didn't move his eyes from the crack on the wall.  
  
"I'm sure it wasn't that bad."  
  
"How about you have mine tomorrow, and I'll have yours." His eyes ran up and down the crack.  
  
"I'm afraid that's not possible. Dr. Warner would have my head on a chopping block if I let you near bacon and eggs."  
  
O'Neill turned his eyes slowly towards McKenzie. "I don't see what would be so bad about that."  
  
The room fell silent.  
  
O'Neill stared at the shrink, studying the oily black hair and smoke stained face. An eel. McKenzie reminded him of an eel. He almost smiled in satisfaction.  
  
"Well, it looks like I was right," McKenzie smirked.  
  
O'Neill raised an eyebrow. McKenzie and right in the same sentence?  
  
"Dr. Fraiser should have taken my advice on this case a long time ago. Major Carter is also showing remarkable signs of improvement this morning."  
  
O'Neill's breath caught in his throat.  
  
Her. Carter. The woman...  
  
He swallowed.  
  
"So. When can I get back on duty?" He demanded harshly, trying to grip the wheels on the wheelchair, but his arms refused to push them forwards. What had happened to his strength?  
  
"I'm afraid it will be a while before you're allowed to even walk, not to mention be returned to active duty," McKenzie said almost cheerfully. "You'll also have to have several sessions with me..."  
  
"Now there's something to look forward too."  
  
It was hard, he reflected almost absently, pretending to be fine. Pretending to move on.  
  
But he didn't really have a choice, did he? He owed them everything. And everything meant doing everything he could to make things right again.  
  
He laughed silently, bitterly. Things right again. Yeah, right. Things could never be right again. Still... pretending that he was fine was probably more interesting than being bored mindless while staring at a single crack on a white wall.  
  
* * *  
  
Hammond narrowed his eyes.  
  
"You mean they're *both* suddenly showing signs of recovering mentally?" Jacob asked slowly, letting the words run over them.  
  
McKenzie and Fraiser both nodded their heads, glanced at each other quickly and then turned to Hammond again.  
  
"Colonel O'Neill has suddenly redeveloped his vocal skills. He was attempting to wheel himself around this morning, however the last month of inactivity coupled with his previous medical condition has resulted in a severe lack of physical ability."  
  
There was silence while they digested the information.  
  
Hammond stared down at the page in front of him, the typed sheet bearing all the specific details of O'Neill. "What about Major Carter?"  
  
Janet hesitated. "She's... she's indicated - verbally - that she wants to get better. She's also made it apparent that she's reluctant towards physical contact... She also mentioned something about being watched, but I'm going to assume that that particular statement was made in particular reference to males." Janet studied her notes carefully, careful not to miss any minor details.  
  
"Was yesterday's outburst mentioned at all?" Hammond asked gently.  
  
"What outburst?" Jacob demanded, eyes narrowed as he stared at the doctors.  
  
"Dr. McKenzie suggested we 'reintroduce' them to one another-"  
  
"They haven't seen each other since they were rescued?" Jacob's eyes widened.  
  
"No." Dr. Fraiser shook her head. "As I was saying, we believed that some of their condition was partially due to the shock of suddenly transferring out of one environment and straight into another one. If, by reintroducing them to one another, we could give them something 'familiar', then maybe they would start to make their recoveries."  
  
"I'm guessing it worked." Jacob glanced at the pages.  
  
"Sort of," McKenzie said slowly.  
  
"When they finally noticed one another... I don't think they're friends anymore." Janet said softly.  
  
Jacob nodded slowly. "What about mention of Dr. Jackson and Teal'c?"  
  
"Nothing. I was talking to Sam yesterday, and just the mention of Daniel's name caused her to become incredibly upset." Janet shook her head.  
  
"Colonel O'Neill just pretends he hasn't heard the comment. Either that or he just changes the subject."  
  
Hammond sighed, rubbing at his face. "What do you recommend?"  
  
"They're still in the early stages of recovery, Sir," Janet said, her eyes narrowed.  
  
How long do you believe this 'recovery' will take?  
  
"It's impossible to tell," McKenzie stated. "Each patient is different, each situation is different... even the patient's background and previous medical..."  
  
"Roughly," Jacob snapped.  
  
"Well... Judging by Sam's mindset - and her determination - I'd say that she's already got herself convinced she's fine, which means it will only be a matter of weeks until she's got complete control of herself again."  
  
"But?" Hammond waited.  
  
"If she doesn't deal with what's happened to her... if she shuts it out like she's doing now... either it will hold her back now or some time in the future she's going to pay for it. Until she's dealt with everything I sincerely doubt she'll be 'fully recovered'."  
  
"It's very rare that a patient manages to 'completely recover' without actually dealing with the incident," McKenzie inserted, nodding his head. "Colonel O'Neill is a classic example. His records show that he never completely satisfied the psychologists working with him - he never actually co-operated. Just one day he decided to get better, and so he got better. Even during his years at the SGC he has shown several classic symptoms of suppressed feelings..." McKenzie trailed off.  
  
"I don't want to do this." Jacob rubbed at his face. "But I don't have a choice."  
  
"Doctors... how soon do you believe Major Carter and Colonel O'Neill would be ready to return to active duty?"  
  
Janet opened her mouth in protest, and then closed it. "I... I don't know. If we don't come across any complications, and Sam still has her stubbornness... I'd say that she might be ready in a few months."  
  
"O'Neill will be longer - if ever," McKenzie said slowly. "He's got a lot more physiotherapy and physical recovery ahead of him than Major Carter... and he's also not as young as she is."  
  
Jacob nodded. "You know what to do, George." He stood up.  
  
"Aren't you going to see her?"  
  
Jacob shook his head. "Not this time. Maybe... maybe when the Doc feels she's doing a bit better. Wouldn't want to undo all her hard work." Jacob's voice was rough, but no one said anything.  
  
Janet watched the Tok'ra leave the room, and then turned questioning eyes onto the General. "Sir?"  
  
Hammond stared down at the paper again, before looking at her. "It's nothing more than an idea, as yet Doctor. Don't worry yourself about it," he said eventually.  
  
McKenzie started to protest, and then fell silent.  
  
"You'd better get home. You've had some long days." Hammond stood up.  
  
~6~  
  
Sam let her fingers trail slowly over the trinkets, watching as the dust stuck to her digit.  
  
"I'm sorry about the dust. I kept it pretty clean at first, but then things got busy and..."  
  
"It's okay," Sam said gently. "I'm just happy it's all here."  
  
"Your Dad wouldn't let me sell it," Janet admitted, a smile tugging on her face.  
  
Sam remained silent, looking at the room. It felt oddly familiar, as she gazed around it, looking at all her personal belongings. They were just the way she'd left them, giving a ghost of her presence to the room.  
  
"When... when you first disappeared... Cassie and I used to come stay over often," Janet said softly, reaching out to finger a photo standing on the mantle.  
  
Sam gazed over at it, and then flinched. It was of SG-1...  
  
"Think you'll be okay?" Janet asked softly, interrupting her.  
  
Sam nodded mutely.  
  
"Okay. I'll... I'll bring Cassie over tomorrow. Is that okay?"  
  
"Yeah, that's fine."  
  
Janet jiggled her keys nervously, watching Sam like a hawk. "You sure you're okay?"  
  
"Yeah." Sam smiled this time, a beam of relief as she gazed around the room. "I'm fine, Janet. I'm home... I'm safe... I'm happy," she whispered.  
  
Janet felt her eyes misting over and gathered her friend in a hug. "I'm so happy." Janet echoed, her tearful giggle escaping as Sam tightened her arms around the petite doctor.  
  
"Me too. Now, you get home." Sam said briskly, and for a second it felt as though she had never left, never changed... "And I'm going to cook myself a *huge* meal, curl up in front of the TV and watch movies all night long."  
  
"And you're not inviting me?" Janet pouted playfully.  
  
"No. If I remember correctly someone had a teenager at home..."  
  
"She's so big now," Janet said wistfully.  
  
Sam's smile grew teary. "I missed her. I missed you too."  
  
Janet chuckled again, wiping her eyes furiously. "Well. You're back now. It's all over."  
  
"Yes." Sam nodded. Deliberately she reached over and pushed the photo of SG- 1 over, until it was lying on its face, hiding its image from her view. "It's all over."  
  
* * *  
  
O'Neill breezed into the room, his bag carelessly slung over a shoulder.  
  
He faltered mid-step, his eyes riveted to the far corner.  
  
"That's great, Sam. Only a few more... wonderful."  
  
He swallowed roughly, watching the long, faintly tanned limbs glistening with a sheen of sweat as they worked the machinery. Oh...  
  
"How'd I do?" She was out of breath, her cheeks flushed a healthy red.  
  
"You know I'm not allowed to say," Janet smiled, marking something on the paper.  
  
"Janet..." She almost smiled at the doctor, but O'Neill could see the apprehension in her blue eyes. Her physical fitness still wasn't what it used to be, her panting was testimony to that. Still, she was obviously in better condition than him.  
  
"Sam... it's not up to me to do the evaluation. You know that."  
  
She pouted for a second, and then flopped over, touching her toes quickly before straightening up.  
  
"Dr. Warner will have to go over the results as well... but..."  
  
Sam looked up, her eyes shining with hope.  
  
"I'm not allowed to say anything," Janet said pointedly, but her smile telling another story. "Go take a shower, Major, and I'll go give these results to Dr. Warner."  
  
Sam flashed a brilliant smile at the petite doctor and grabbed a towel.  
  
Then she froze, obviously catching sight of him for the first time.  
  
"Sam, what...?" Janet turned around as well, and then realised what the problem was.  
  
O'Neill shifted uncomfortably. He felt awkward and old when she was looking at him like that, studying him with a cold detachment that criticised everything he was trying to build up again.  
  
Silently she turned from him, and he felt the usual stab of guilt pierce him. This time, the guilt was followed by a prick of anger as well. She was treating him worse than-  
  
He shook his head and continued to his spot in the room, his eyes gazing around greedily for Marcus. Where was the physiotherapist when he *really* needed him? Having coffee, more than likely, he sighed to himself.  
  
The air between them was frosty, the hatred and revulsion radiating from her thick enough to give a chainsaw trouble cutting through it.  
  
He kept his head high and moved determinedly to dump his bag on the bench. He wouldn't look at her. If she saw his guilt and his sorrow then she'd only hate him more, only pity him more for his inability to protect her and do his job.  
  
He sighed, tentatively resting his foot on the bench, wincing as his knee ground painfully when he stretched. It hurt. It hurt so damn bad...  
  
O'Neill clenched his teeth.  
  
Defiantly he straightened his leg and marched over to the treadmill. Damn Marcus. Damn Marcus for not being here to stop this foolish act of pride.  
  
He hit the button and started a smooth jog, pain searing up his leg each time he moved his foot. Faster and faster... it became a blur to him.  
  
But out of the corner of his eye he could see her watching him, see her eyebrows raised delicately above two expressionless blue orbs.  
  
He could see Janet too, the worry and confusion clearly written on her face at his stupidity, but wisely refraining from saying anything.  
  
They left the room.  
  
He lost the ability to move his leg.  
  
By the time Marcus entered the therapy room he was lying on his back, sprawled where the treadmill had dumped him, tears of pain and frustration leaking down his cheeks.  
  
* * *  
  
Jacob shifted on his chair nervously, gazing at the door with apprehension.  
  
Any second now... any second now his 'recovered' daughter would come through there.  
  
He swallowed roughly.  
  
Dr. Fraiser would not have encouraged this meeting if she did not believe Samantha to be ready.  
  
"I know that." He sighed. "It's just... last time-"  
  
It was months ago, Jacob. A long time. She would not have agreed to it either if she did not feel herself ready.  
  
Jacob sighed, nodding his head.  
  
The door opened.  
  
One nervous, blond woman awkwardly entered the room.  
  
He swallowed again. "Hi."  
  
"Hi." Her eyes were guarded, fearful even.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
"Yeah." She smiled tightly, but there were tears brimming heavily on her eyelids. "I'm sorry, Daddy."  
  
His own eyes started stinging. "It's okay," he whispered, standing up.  
  
She hesitated, glancing at him almost fearfully before squaring her shoulders and taking a step towards him. A second later she was hugging him, her fingers digging into his back as she clutched at him tightly.  
  
"I was so scared," she whispered, shuddering in his arms.  
  
"I'm sorry." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.  
  
She stilled in his arms, and he could feel her muscles tensing beneath his hold. Reluctantly he loosened his arms from around her, and let her go.  
  
She stepped back hastily, her eyes unreadable.  
  
He smiled. It was okay.  
  
"Thank you," he whispered, stepping away from her, acknowledging what this had cost her.  
  
Her answering smile was as watery as his, and she quickly brushed a tear from under her eyelid.  
  
"So. How's Selmak?"  
  
He relaxed. "Why don't you ask her that yourself?"  
  
She smiled fully then, relief shining crystal clear in her features.  
  
It would be okay.  
  
* * *  
  
TO:     Major General George Hammond, USAF  
  
FROM:   Dr. Major Janet Fraiser, USAF  
  
RE:     MEDICAL/PSYCHOLOGICAL EVALUATION - MAJOR SAMANTHA CARTER  
  
10/3/05  
  
   
  
I can no longer find any reasons to keep Major Carter from returning to active duty. Her physical condition is once again above required levels, and her mental ability has not changed at all. Her refusal to discuss Dr. Jackson, Teal'c and Colonel O'Neill is a concern; however it is not enough of a concern to keep her from serving her full capacity as a Major.  
  
Her reluctance to talk about her experiences on P32 910, and what led to the capture of SG-1 is also a concern, however the psychological effect of forcing her to confront this could be more damaging than healing.  
  
Major Carter has developed several habits that indicate the events of the last year and a half do still affect her psychologically; however I do not believe that any of them - save perhaps one in the most extreme of cases (Point A) - will affect her performance as a member of an SG team at all.  
  
I therefore recommend that she be reinstated into active duty.  
  
Dr. Major Janet Fraiser.  
  
* POINT A: Due to her experiences and treatment during her imprisonment, Major Carter has developed a mild ... phobia, particularly towards males. She is, however, showing encouraging signs of overcoming this condition. I believe that stationing her on an SG team with male teammates will encourage this condition to be healed quickly as she will once again be entrusting her life to members of the opposite sex.  
  
* * *  
  
O'Neill bashed half-heartedly at the lump of stuff in front of him. It barely moved beneath his flailing fists.  
  
"Colonel." A voice reached him easily over his rough pants for breath, and he was grateful for the excuse to stop for a minute.  
  
"Ferretti." He grinned slightly, walking over to where the Major was waiting with a towel.  
  
"Not doing bad." Ferretti handed him the soft white cloth, and O'Neill took a moment to dry the sweat from his neck. "McKenzie says you've been down here for an hour already."  
  
O'Neill scowled. "What, does he keep a second by second record of my whereabouts?"  
  
"No," Ferretti chuckled, slapping O'Neill on the shoulder. "Fraiser's just keeping one on you, and if she feels that you're over doing it then you can bet your booties she'll have you back in that wheelchair quicker than Dr. Jackson could have made most ladies smile..." Ferretti froze.  
  
The towel drew to a ragged halt on O'Neill's arm.  
  
"So. You here for a reason or just come to watch someone with talent work out for a while?" The towel continued its path down his arm.  
  
Ferretti frowned, but answered with a retort. "Yeah, unfortunately I only found an old man down here so I realised it would have been a waste of time."  
  
O'Neill threw the towel at him.  
  
"No... Hammond asked me to tell you... well, okay, he didn't... but..."  
  
"Spit it out."  
  
"Carter's been reassigned." O'Neill didn't stop pulling his helmet off, so Ferretti forged on. "To my team."  
  
"Pass me that towel again, would you?" O'Neill asked carelessly.  
  
Ferretti threw the towel over as asked, and then waited. "So?"  
  
"So what?" O'Neill looked up innocently, grimacing as his neck muscles complained.  
  
"You don't mind?"  
  
"Mind what? That you gave me a dirty towel? Course not."  
  
"Ha ha. I was talking about Carter, Jack."  
  
The locker was dented before Ferretti even realised O'Neill's fist had moved towards it.  
  
"Colonel!"  
  
O'Neill turned to Ferretti, and Ferretti backed away as the calm, masked eyes met his own. "Why should it bother me? It's your team." He shrugged, and turned away again.  
  
"Yeah... but... she is your second," Ferretti said softly as O'Neill exited the room.  
  
* * *  
  
From long experience, Sam knew that when the chair clicked it was half a spin away from collapsing. So she stopped spinning in one direction and started twirling around in the other direction.  
  
"Sam."  
  
She startled and clutched desperately at the desk somewhere in front of her. Her fingers connected with the solid wood and she jerked to a rough halt, smiling up guiltily as Janet entered the small office and sat down opposite her.  
  
"Hey Janet."  
  
Sam gathered her dignity and waited until Janet had put the files down and looked up at her.  
  
"It's your first mission today, isn't it?" Janet asked gently.  
  
Sam nodded, staring down at her fingers resting in her lap.  
  
"You don't have to-"  
  
"No, it's fine." Sam snapped her head up, her eyes earnestly staring at Janet. "It's fine, I'm happy to be back on a team."  
  
Janet nodded, studying the woman in front of her. "What time do you leave?"  
  
"1500 hours," Sam said absently.  
  
Janet checked her wristwatch. "You're early."  
  
Sam nodded, ashamed as a blush stained her cheeks.  
  
"What?" Janet frowned in concern, watching the embarrassment play across Sam's face.  
  
"I know it's stupid. I've known the Major for years... and the others... but-"  
  
"It's okay. No one minds, Sam. They all understand."  
  
"But I *don't* understand." Sam exploded, standing up roughly and pushing the chair out behind her. "I don't understand why I'm like this. Why I suddenly can't stand the thought of getting ready for a mission with them..."  
  
Janet stood up and reached over the desk to place a calming hand on Sam's shoulder. "Sam, listen to me. You... things were done to you that should *never* be done to anyone... No, Sam, look at me."  
  
Sam reluctantly looked up at Janet, desperately trying to hide her shame the quivering of her lip.  
  
"It's only natural that you're going to be scared because they're male and- "  
  
"I'm not scared, Janet," Sam said, almost amused. "I'm... I just feel... sick. Disgusted." She studied the floor again as she felt Janet's eyes on her. "I'm... I just feel like they're looking at me all the time," she whispered eventually.  
  
"I know." Janet sighed, sinking back down on her chair. "Sam, if you're honestly not ready for this...""I am," Sam protested determinedly. She was ready for this. She'd fought, argued and battled with herself everyday for the last month and a half to get to this point, to be allowed back on an SG team. She couldn't let it all go to waste now because of personal discomfort. "I... I've just got to get used to the guys. That's all."  
  
Janet nodded, understanding. "So you're okay then. Honestly?"  
  
Sam looked up, her jaw set. "Yes. I... It's just a comfort thing," she admitted, looking sheepishly down at the floor again.  
  
Janet smiled in spite of herself. "You want to take the chair with you on the mission?" She asked lightly.  
  
Sam rolled her eyes. "It's not the chair, Janet."  
  
"I know." Janet's eyes stung and her hand reached over and squeezed Sam's fingers gently.  
  
Hesitantly, Sam raised her eyes to Janet's and squeezed the doctor's small digits lightly.  
  
* * *  
  
It was all Hammond could do to stop himself picking up the pen and fiddling. He glared balefully at the pen as it lay innocently on the desk; just tempting him to lift his fingers and fidget. He wouldn't though. He *refused* to let himself slip back into that habit.  
  
He looked up and caught the smile on Jacob's face before the Tok'ra had time to hide his amusement. He glared at his friend before defiantly picking up the pen and putting it in his pocket. He'd be damned before he let his suddenly fidgeting fingers get the better of him.  
  
"How long still?" Jacob asked eventually, looking enviously at Hammond's watch.  
  
Hammond glanced at the object of Jacob's covetous looks and then back at the Tok'ra. "Half an hour."  
  
"They gearing up?" Jacob asked, but Hammond noticed the catch of gruffness in his voice even though he tried to hide it.  
  
"Yes. Though I understand Sam was seen wandering around the halls about two hours ago, fully geared up already."  
  
Jacob smiled in amusement. "She's impossible. Can't wait to get through the gate..." He shook his head slightly, and then stood up before wandering over to the windows overlooking the 'gate. "What about Jack?"  
  
Hammond sighed, and then glared as he became aware of his fingers busily scrunching up a piece of paper. He snatched them back to himself before getting up slowly and joining Jacob at the window. "He won't be gating for a while yet."  
  
Jacob nodded in understanding, but Hammond continued. "His physical condition still isn't cutting it... he's just not... He's reclusive to try and describe it."  
  
"O'Neill?" Jacob frowned, thinking about the vocal man he remembered.  
  
"Oh... he's still vocal, socialises... it's just... Ferretti says it's how he was after his son died." Hammond said gently.  
  
A noise at the door caught their attention.  
  
"Sam." Jacob smiled, and stepped towards his daughter.  
  
She smiled, and stepped forwards hesitantly.  
  
Hammond watched silently as she stood awkwardly while Jacob put his hands on her shoulders, leaning forwards for a peck on the cheek.  
  
She returned the favour, and then squirmed out of his hold before saluting Hammond. Hammond smiled at her, and motioned for her to be seated.  
  
"Major Ferretti said to tell you that we'll be ready to go in fifteen minutes," she reported, pretending to ignore his offer of a seat.  
  
He nodded his head, studying her. She was anxious, he decided. There was something about her, the nervous energy she exuded that spoke about her anxiety. At first he'd thought it was the excitement of her 'first' mission, but he realised that wasn't the cause when he looked carefully at her eyes. She was fretting about something, and he didn't even begin to pretend that he knew what it was she was worried about.  
  
She shifted again, growing uncomfortable with the silence in the room.  
  
"Well... I'd best go join my team, Sir." A smile broke on her face as the words passed over her lips, but Hammond couldn't help noticing the shadow of doubt flickering across her eyes for the briefest second before she saluted again, smiled at her father and marched stiffly out of the room.  
  
Jacob turned to him, eyes wide. "Are you sure she's ready?"  
  
"No," Hammond admitted. "We've given them a recon mission to...., Argos. Nothing should go wrong there... she's been there before so it won't exactly be an unfamiliar situation." Hammond turned to the 'gate. "If it were really up to my opinion, I wouldn't have her going out just yet. But she's been insisting and Dr. Fraiser's admitted that other than a gut feeling, there aren't any reasonable grounds for keeping her here."  
  
"Surely you could..."  
  
"Fraiser also thinks it might help," Hammond said softly, watching as Carter followed her team into the gateroom. Ferretti looked up and threw a casual wave, which Hammond acknowledged with a nod of his head. "Want to join me in the control room?"  
  
Jacob nodded, and the two men slowly made their way to the small room.  
  
"We're ready to go, Sir."  
  
"Dial up Argos," Hammond ordered the technician.  
  
While the inner stone circle spun, Hammond watched the team below. Carter looked awkward; the grin on her face seemingly forced and frozen while the stiffness of her jerky movements betrayed her anxiety. Hammond hoped to God they weren't being too premature with her assignment.  
  
Ferretti looked up as the wormhole locked into place.  
  
The MALP rolled through, and seconds later the telemetry revealed an empty, but clean and peaceful looking room that was familiar to everyone in the control room.  
  
"SG- 2, you have a go."  
  
* * *  
  
Nervous didn't even begin to cover the feelings washing over her.  
  
She followed Ferretti up the ramp, and stopped behind him as he paused for a second to look at his team and then have a last minute talk with the General.  
  
Her eyes strayed over the figures in the control room.  
  
Her Dad, his face Tok'ra bland, was watching her. If she looked hard enough, she knew she'd see the pride shining in his eyes, and Sam felt relief was over her. It hurt him that she was distant to him now, she knew that, but she also knew he understood.  
  
She still loved him. Even if... even if she couldn't bring herself to show it anymore.  
  
Hammond was also there, and she felt the same feelings she felt when she looked at her Dad. Respect, and daughterly love even, warring against the revulsion and irrational fear that clouded her judgment.  
  
"SG..., you have a go."  
  
The words sent tendrils of excitement over her. She had honestly thought she'd never do this again. And here she was... ready to explore the universe again. And ready to put things right. Resolve ran over her, giving her strength and courage. She could do this.  
  
She smiled at the Captain standing next to her, a real smile of joy, and he returned it.  
  
"Let's move out," Ferretti instructed.  
  
A tall, familiar figure with grey hair caught her eye. He was standing in the shadows, watching her.  
  
Sam turned and walked through the gate.  
  
* * * 


	4. chapter 7 and 8

Broken 7 & 8  
  
by Sharim  
  
~7~  
  
He was deliberating.  
  
Spaghetti or baked beans? He pondered.  
  
Slowly he stretched out a hand, reaching for the tin of spaghetti, and then changed his mind. Neither spaghetti nor baked beans. He'd have-  
  
"Jack!"  
  
He spun around awkwardly, the bad knee viciously voicing its complaint as he knocked about four tins from the shelf. Darn.  
  
"Cassie!" He realised, unable to stop the grin from splitting his face. Ignoring his throbbing, uncooperative knee, he picked her up and spun her around as her arms enveloped him in a warm hug. "What have you been up to?"  
  
When she finally let go, he stooped to retrieve the cans, still hiding the pain of his aching knee. He was good at hiding pain.  
  
"Today? Well… shopping really. I bought this really nice gown for our dinner next week; Sam helped me pick it out."  
  
His hand froze in place – the can hovering inches from the countertop for a brief moment before he slowly set it back it its place. "It's green with a pale gold trim," Cassie continued, unaware of his lapse in concentration. "It's so pale it's almost silver. Jack?"  
  
She was looking good, he realised dimly, her skin once again tanned, her hair short and tidy, her blue eyes as icy as ever.  
  
"Jack!"  
  
"What?" He tore his look from Sam, gazing down at Cassandra instead.  
  
"What's wrong?" She turned and saw Sam, and then looked at Jack again in confusion.  
  
"Nothing," Jack said shortly and turned his back on Sam. Silently he shoved the tins back onto the shelf, ignoring their dented appearance. He hadn't been going to baked beans or spaghetti anyway...  
  
"How about having lunch with us?"  
  
He dropped the last tin he was holding, and paused for a second.  
  
Slowly he bent and picked it up, and nearly could stand himself back up when he heard something in his knee crack.  
  
"You okay?" Cassie was agitated now, completely confused.  
  
Hadn't Janet explained the situation yet? Didn't she know that Carter didn't want him anywhere near her? Didn't she realise that he didn't *deserve* to be anywhere near Carter, let alone have *lunch* with her?  
  
"Fine." He winced, standing up. "Just my knees."  
  
"Oh." Cassie turned to look at Sam whose face had also turned to expressionless stone. "Sam, help me convince him to come to lunch?"  
  
"I'm sure he's busy." He heard Sam answer shortly.  
  
Cassie turned back to him, completely confusion clearly written on her features. She was almost in tears.  
  
He felt like an ass.  
  
"She's right. I'm busy now, Cassie." Why did his voice have to sound so curt? Why did he have to sound so harsh?  
  
"Oh. Okay."  
  
She looked like a puppy who's just been kicked.  
  
He felt like a real ass.  
  
"Maybe next time," he said softly, forcing a slight smile onto his wooden features.  
  
"Yeah," Cassie agreed, but the smile wasn't in her eyes or on her voice. "See you later, Jack."  
  
"You too, Cass." He touched her arm briefly before turning around to contemplate the choice between spaghetti and baked beans again, not that'd he'd made up his mind or anything yet.  
  
He heard their footsteps disappear, Cassie's low voice talking curiously to Sam.  
  
He stared hard at the baked beans.  
  
Defiantly he reached over and plucked a tin of meatballs from the shelf, daring the baked beans or spaghetti to argue with him.  
  
* * *  
  
TO:         Major General George Hammond, USAF  
  
FROM:       Dr. Major Janet Fraiser, USAF  
  
RE:         Physical Evaluation - Colonel Jonathan 'Jack' O'Neill.  
  
2/15/06  
  
   
  
After extensive physiotherapy, it is disappointing to report that I can not recommend Colonel O'Neill's reinstatement to active duty. The injuries which he acquired during his imprisonment were all severe. The majority of these have healed with minimum ramifications, however, several leg injuries - more specifically the cartilage damage of the right knee - have resulted in permanent, irreversible damage which is affecting Colonel O'Neill's physical capability of field work.  
  
Colonel O'Neill has worked with much dedication to overcoming this physical injury; however it has reached a point where no amount of work or treatment will be able to help it heal any further.  
  
Therefore, I recommend transfer to an advisory or administrative position, or, failing this, honourable discharge will have to be considered.  
  
Dr. Major Janet Fraiser  
  
* * *  
  
Hammond had been dreading this.  
  
Fraiser had been warning him for weeks, but he'd deliberately turned a deaf ear and ignored her, instead placing his hope and trust - his wishing even - on O'Neill's stubborn determination. This time, the odds were against them all, and Hammond's gamble fell horrendously flat. Now he only had half an hour in which to think of a way to tell O'Neill his career was well and truly over this time.  
  
He sighed. Absently he started doodling over the page again, this time not caring about his internal battle with his new found habits of fiddling, fidgeting, and doodling. There were more important things to worry about.  
  
There was a knock on the door, and it opened before Hammond even had time to still his wandering pen.  
  
"Mind if I barge in, Sir?"  
  
Hammond's gut opened and swallowed his stomach. Oh... damn.  
  
"Not at all, Colonel. Come in." He waved O'Neill carelessly towards a chair and eyed the far cupboard greedily. There was a bottle of whiskey in there, he remembered, still unopened. He remembered bringing that in right after the very first time Apophis threatened Earth. Hell, he needed some Dutch courage at times like those!  
  
"I... Well..."  
  
"What can I do for you, Colonel?" Hammond asked.  
  
O'Neill's eyes slid to the paper in front of Hammond, and the General was two seconds too slow in concealing the rough squiggles.  
  
"Would that be a *dog*, General?" There was amusement on O'Neill's voice, but it was sorely lacking in the brown eyes. Hammond would quite happily have sold his soul to hear and see genuine amusement in O'Neill again, instead of a dry sarcasm that was more scathing than Hammond ever remembered it.  
  
"No. It's a cat," he returned shortly, covering it up as best as he could. "You wanted something, Colonel?"  
  
O'Neill pulled back then, staring at the carpet for a second before slowly raising his face back towards Hammond. But he didn't look the General in the eye, staring instead at a spot somewhere behind Hammond's right shoulder. Hammond found it very disconcerting.  
  
"I... well... I wanted to ask a favour, Sir," O'Neill said eventually.  
  
"I can't guarantee anything," Hammond warned.  
  
"I know that, Sir. And I know I'm probably grasping at straws here... but... I'm bored. Sir."  
  
Hammond sighed and eyed the corner of the report he'd deliberately thrust out of sight ten minutes ago.  
  
"There's lots of paper work..."  
  
O'Neill sighed, rolling his eyes. "General... I'm not going back on rotation, am I?"  
  
"No." Hammond shook his head, gazing steadily at the former 2IC. "I'm sorry, son."  
  
O'Neill didn't say anything. He bit down on his bottom lip, staring at the desk for a long minute before raising his head up to the General. "General- "  
  
"I'm sorry, Jack. But... your injuries..."  
  
O'Neill kicked out in frustration, his foot connecting solidly with the desk in front of him. As his knee jarred and pain shot up his leg, a sickening crack sounded. "Sorry." He stood up, ignoring the pain as he glanced at the now splintered wood. "I thought it was stronger..."  
  
Hammond leant back and eyed the damage, then looked at the man trying not to limp out of his office. "Jack."  
  
O'Neill turned around, his face bland. "Sir... I might come and see you later... to discuss retirement options."  
  
Hammond didn't have to be a genius to realise O'Neill wasn't talking about pension, but rather about *where* he could retire...  
  
"I'm sure we-"  
  
Hammond stopped mid sentence and stood up as the klaxons sounded loudly throughout the base. "No one's due back," he announced, taking off towards the control room.  
  
"No, Sir. No one is due back," O'Neill echoed, following Hammond.  
  
O'Neill stopped at the stairs, his eyes following Hammond's back. Then he slowly and deliberately turned his back towards the control room and hobbled down the stairs towards his quarters.  
  
* * *  
  
"I can't believe you *did* that!" Davids grinned, squelching down the ramp.  
  
"You were *ogling*, Captain. Of course I was going to do it."  
  
"I was not ogling!" Davids denied.  
  
"Oh yes you were." Ferretti grinned, clapping Davids on the back. "I think that Carter did very nicely."  
  
"You were also ogling, Sir," Sam retorted, grinning politely.  
  
Ferretti raised an eyebrow. "So why didn't you push me in?"  
  
"You've got a higher ranking than me," Sam said dryly, and the team burst into gales of laughter.  
  
"How was the mission?" Hammond asked, watching as the four people filed down the ramp.  
  
"Great. We met some pretty natives… Davids went swimming."  
  
"Compliments of Major Carter." Davids rolled his eyes, mock glaring at Carter.  
  
The smile touched Hammond's lips before he could stop it forming, but it disappeared as reality set in. "Major Carter, would you please head up to the debriefing room?" He requested.  
  
Sam frowned, glancing down at herself quickly. "With all due respect, Sir... I'm kinda dirty."  
  
"I know, but you're needed."  
  
"Yes Sir." Sam nodded and waved good bye to her teammates before exiting through the other door. "What's going on?" She met up with Hammond on the stairs.  
  
"There's a meeting, and you're needed," Hammond said shortly.  
  
She eyed him suspiciously. He was hiding something from her.  
  
"What's it about?"  
  
"The Tok'ra..." Hammond started out, but the door was in front of them, and he fell silent as they stepped through.  
  
"Dad!" Sam smiled, grinning at her Dad.  
  
"Didn't we teach you about hygiene?" He teased, giving her a quick hug and stepping back to avoid the mud on her BDUs.  
  
Sam rolled her eyes, before eyeing the seats.  
  
"Sit down," Hammond instructed.  
  
"Sir… with all due respect, I think I'll just stand."  
  
Hammond nodded his agreement and sat down at his usual chair.  
  
"Major, this is Jochen and his symbiote Yalman, and this is Dresda and his symbiote Pernon." Hammond introduced the two Tok'ra seated on the other side of the desk.  
  
Sam eyed them suspiciously. She knew them, she was certain. Maybe Jolinar....  
  
"Sorry I'm late, General, but..."  
  
She spun around, instinctively stepping backwards as Jack O'Neill barged into the room.  
  
He froze, mid step and mid sentence as he caught sight of her.  
  
For one, jarring second they stared at each other, time stretching together so far that Sam felt as though the air was pulled out of her lungs.  
  
"Sit down please, Colonel." Hammond pretended to ignore the looks on their faces. He pretended to ignore the hostility between them. He pretended to ignore the knowledge that the two of them hadn't spoken to each other since that meeting organised by Fraiser and McKenzie. He pretended to ignore that the two of them pretended the other didn't exist.  
  
Carter's mouth pulled into a tight line as O'Neill slunk towards an empty chair out of her line of sight and kept his eyes firmly focused on the floor.  
  
"Now that we're all here..." Jacob started out. "We can get started."  
  
"Started with what?" O'Neill asked suspiciously, frowning in the General's direction.  
  
"A briefing."  
  
"Excuse me?" Sam's voice chorused along perfectly with O'Neill's, the inflection matched to the note.  
  
"A briefing," Hammond repeated, glaring at them both before turning his attention back to Jacob.  
  
I know that this seems insensitive to both of you, but please understand that this is of great of importance. Selmak continued.  
  
"I hate it when the Tok'ra act smooth," O'Neill complained.  
  
Sam kept her face blank and deliberately avoided looking at him.  
  
I understand that both of you - Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter - refuse to discuss the time of your imprisonment.  
  
If the situation hadn't been so serious, Hammond might have laughed as both of them instantly looked at one another and then placed the same blank masks on their faces.  
  
However... the Tok'ra attempt at destroying the Facility where you were imprisoned failed, and the Goa'uld have managed to rebuild it and are once again manufacturing weapons there.  
  
"What's this got to do with us?" No one commented on the strangled sound of Jack's voice.  
  
The Tok'ra intend to launch another attack, and this time completely destroy the facility.  
  
"Oh." Sam swallowed, leaning against the wall. Hammond didn't comment about her unmilitary position, or the mud on the wall.  
  
"I still don't understand what this has to do with us..." O'Neill glared at Hammond.  
  
You were both there for over a year, Colonel. You have intimate knowledge of the mines, the factories... perhaps even of the Goa'uld palace.  
  
And uncomfortable silence settled over them they waited for a response.  
  
O'Neill stood up, his palms firmly planted on the table. "This has nothing to do with me..."  
  
"Colonel," Hammond warned.  
  
"No. It's not 'Colonel' anymore. Remember? As of an hour ago, when you told me. Remember?"  
  
Hammond steeled himself, hating the way he was betraying his friendship with O'Neill and forcing him to do this. "It's not official yet, Colonel. I haven't processed the papers. You are still currently employed by the USAF, and that means this does have everything to do with you."  
  
O'Neill glared at Hammond, and refused to sit.  
  
Sam felt her gaze resting on O'Neill's slumped shoulders, taking in his defiant frame with a sympathetic eye, before catching herself and once again pretending to be a part of the wall.  
  
Major Carter? Damn Tok'ra.  
  
"Yes?" Play innocent.  
  
Do you have this knowledge? No, don't go there. Please don't go there.  
  
"What knowledge?"  
  
Of the factories?  
  
She nodded, not trusting her voice.  
  
The mines?  
  
She shook her head. No, she'd never been sent there- STOP! She clenched her eyes shut, wishing the world to go away.  
  
The Goa'uld palace.  
  
That was the last place she wanted to think about. She didn't want to remember the gold walls, the gaudy decor… the fires... the faces… oh...  
  
"Yes." It was torn from her, an almost sob in the quiet room.  
  
Colonel?  
  
"I know the mines," he whispered hoarsely.  
  
Sam stared at the floor. The floor was blue. Blue. Blue was good... there hadn't been much blue There. No, that had been red, gold, black... brown… it had been dirty. Like her boots. No, worse than her boots.  
  
The bile rose in her throat.  
  
"Oh...excuse me." She choked, ducking out of the room and down the corridor before Hammond had even realised O'Neill had left through the other door.  
  
Jacob remained silent as Selmak retreated, his eyes focused on the door through which his daughter had just disappeared. He closed his eyes.  
  
"I didn't want to do that."  
  
"I know." Hammond swallowed. "I didn't want to either."  
  
"They won't be able to give us the necessary information, not if they become like this every time you bring the subject up," he continued emotionlessly.  
  
Hammond nodded, not even bothering to admit that all other attempts at talking about Genda had proven fruitless.  
  
"You're going to take them with you." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.  
  
There is no other choice. Pernon said gently.  
  
"I know." Hammond sighed. "But... you have to understand that neither of them has even come close to dealing with what happened. On outward appearance, they've got it all covered. Back to a 'relative' normal Sam and Jack. But... it's not going to last long."  
  
Perhaps... Selmak hesitated.  
  
"What?"  
  
Perhaps by helping defeat Genda they might help defeat their own, personal demons at the same time.  
  
Hammond sighed, standing up. "I'll hold onto that hope."  
  
~8~  
  
TO:           Joint Chiefs  
  
FROM:         Major General George Hammond, USAF  
  
RE:           GENDA MISSION  
  
2/15/06  
  
   
  
The briefing with the Tok'ra, Colonel Jonathan 'Jack' O'Neill and Major Samantha Carter did not go well. Failure by Major Carter and Colonel O'Neill to verbally provide the details required by the Tok'ra has resulted in the Tok'ra requesting the presence of Major Carter and Colonel O'Neill on this mission.  
  
I feel this would not be advisable as Major Carter and Colonel O'Neill are both still trying to overcome the trauma experienced on Genda, as well as both harbouring an intense dislike for one another - possibly due to events on Genda that so far have failed to come to light. Dr. Major Janet Fraiser and I both believe this mission might not only further damage them psychologically, but also Colonel O'Neill's current physical condition.  
  
I strongly recommend denying approval to the Tok'ra request.  
  
Major General George Hammond  
  
* * *  
  
TO:           Major General George Hammond, USAF  
  
FROM:         Joint Chiefs  
  
RE:           GENDA MISSION  
  
3/15/06  
  
   
  
JCS has taken advisement into consideration, however, when taking the importance of the Tok'ra/Earth Alliance into consideration, as well as the effect the destruction of Genda would have on the war with the Goa'uld, the JCS has decided to approve the Tok'ra request.  
  
Personal likes and dislikes are to be put aside in the common interest of serving their country.  
  
Both Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter are ordered to accompany the Tok'ra on the Genda Mission, with their primary objective being to provide the Tok'ra with all the knowledge they require that is in the possession of either person. Secondary objective is to procure weapons and blueprints of weapons.  
  
Joint Chiefs  
  
* * *  
  
"General, Sir, I don't think you understand. I will *not* go on a mission with… with… *him*!" Sam yelled, stamping her foot.  
  
"MAJOR CARTER!" Hammond roared.  
  
The woman in front of him suddenly realised how inappropriate her behaviour was and calmed herself. Fractionally.  
  
"General... with all due respect, *Sir*, it was his fault that-" She clamped her mouth shut, eyes widening as she realised what she was dredging up.  
  
"Major?"  
  
"Nothing. Sir," Sam hissed through clenched teeth. "Permission to be excused?"  
  
"No." He shook his head. "Sam..."  
  
"Sir-"  
  
"No. Please, I want to say this." He sighed, sitting down at his desk again. "Please, Major, sit down."  
  
Sam sat obediently. Like a trained monkey.  
  
"I tried to get you out of this, I really did," he started out. "I wrote to the Joint Chiefs, called the President..."  
  
"I know, Sir. It's just..." Sam hesitated. "I've fought so hard to get over it, to beat what that place did to me. And now you're sending me back. My *father* is sending me back," she whispered.  
  
Hammond swallowed. "I know."  
  
"Why?" Sam sighed, sitting upright again. "It... At the beginning, when I wouldn't talk... I didn't believe it was real. That I could finally relax and be happy because I was home. Now… now I've relaxed. It took a while, I know... but I'm happy. I'm on a team again, I've got my job... I'm *happy*. And now it's happening all over again."  
  
"No, it's not."  
  
She looked at him, raising an eyebrow delicately. "I'm going back there."  
  
"To destroy it. You're not going back as a prisoner, Sam, you're going back to put that thing out of business once and for all."  
  
Sam sighed. "Yes, Sir." And small voice in her mind added 'no sir, how high sir?', but she stamped on it viciously. This was her job.  
  
Hammond watched her rise to her feet slowly. "Jacob doesn't want this either, but it's the only way."  
  
She nodded, straightening herself. "I know." A half smile tugged at her lips. "I just don't want to go back."  
  
Hammond let her go.  
  
* * *  
  
You're not even doing anything to help.  
  
You're pathetic.  
  
The words circled, over and over in his head, a cacophony building and building.  
  
Pathetic. Help. Your fault.  
  
It's your fault, Jack. Your fault.  
  
Your gun.  
  
Your fault.  
  
Charlie!  
  
He woke, sweating and his heart rate sky rocketing.  
  
He was getting to old for this. Too old and too sore, he thought dryly as his knee protested.  
  
04:38hours.  
  
Jack sighed, splashing his face with water.  
  
This was his chance, he realised as he gazed into the mirror. This was his chance to put things right. To finally ease the threat hanging over Carter and himself. To do something good for a change. No matter that it threw him into a complete overdrive of fear and denial.  
  
All he wanted to do was run. Run as far away as humanly possible - Asgardly possible even - from Genda.  
  
He shuddered. He hated that word, more than anything else - except the place itself, of course.  
  
The cold water was refreshing, washing the sticky sweat of his nightmares off his body.  
  
He was used to nightmares by now, having experienced more than his fair share of them. That didn't mean they didn't affect him though.  
  
04:41 hours.  
  
Another six hours at least until they were shipped out to the Tok'ra home world. They. Him and Carter. Carter.  
  
He slammed the gates down before he could think about her.  
  
It's your fault.  
  
He opened the tap, letting the cold water run over his hands as he rested on the sink, just staring at the rivulets of liquid.  
  
* * * 


	5. chapter 9 and 10

Broken 9 & 10  
  
by Sharim  
  
~9~  
  
For the first time since she was cleared for active duty, Sam wished she had never heard of the Stargate.  
  
"You have a go," Hammond called out.  
  
She turned to him slowly, offering up a tight smile. She knew it wasn't his fault that they were being sent on this mission. In a way, it was their own fault, their own inability to talk about something or to think about something that had happened to them.  
  
Which was worse, she pondered as she kept her eyes glued to the ground and followed O'Neill up the ramp: talking and thinking about it or going back there?  
  
Logically, the answer was that going back was worse. But... but some part of her, the twisted, vulture-like part of her, *wanted* to go back. She wanted to go back, like people always wanted to be at the scene of the crime, like people always wanted to have all the gory details.  
  
She shivered violently as they stepped through the cold of the gate into the burning heat of the sun on the Tok'ra home world. How many times the Tok'ra had jumped world since they had been allies? Sam had lost count and this world was as new to her as some of the planets she explored. Still, it looked your regular Tok'ra home world: Desert. Sand and grit as far as her eyes could see, nothing standing out in the bleak and pale landscape.  
  
And then Jacob was there, seeming to appear out of nowhere as he approached them, shaking the sand from his shoulders.  
  
"We were wondering where you were," he said curtly, nodding at Jack and shooting a wary glance at Sam.  
  
Sam felt her hackles raise. It wasn't directly his fault, she *knew* that. But she needed someone to blame, and with Selmak being in her Dad's body... it was simply easier to just lump them together as one and hate them both.  
  
"Took a wrong turn. Sorry," O'Neill answered, and even she couldn't fail to notice the usual lack of oomph in his sarcasm.  
  
"Come on. The transport is this way."  
  
Silently they fell into step behind Jacob, walking next to each other as if to provide some sort of protection. Sam frowned angrily. Protection.  
  
This wasn't about protection. It was about the two of them being the only humans, the only *ex-prisoners* from that place, and for that reason drawing together. She didn't want to turn to O'Neill for someone she could relate to. She didn't want anything to do with *him*. Ever again.  
  
Her stride lengthened, and she walked next to her father. At least he hadn't betrayed her. Yet.  
  
* * *  
  
Jochen was waiting at the ship, standing quietly at his control panel.  
  
They are here. Pernon announced, moving away from the helm and taking up his position at the weapons stall.  
  
Jochen nodded, his fingers quivering as they rested on the control panel.  
  
"Relax." Larya appeared next to him, slipping a slender hand over his. "We aren't anywhere near it yet." She smiled gently.  
  
"I know." He smiled roughly in return, thanking Yalman for controlling his emotions.  
  
"When this is over we will all go to Pelman, and then you and Nicu can stare at the stars all you want," she teased him.  
  
And what of you and I, Larya? Yalman surfaced, his lips pulled back in a smile of amusement.  
  
"We will pass the time, Yalman." She kissed him lightly and then pulled away.  
  
Larya, your position is not here. Pernon rapped out.  
  
The Tok'ra smiled again and squeezed Jochen's hand before moving away to the far side of the cabin.  
  
"Let's go." Jacob entered the ship, O'Neill and Carter following warily behind him.  
  
Jochen watched them cautiously; he did not believe this plan was wise. Carter, the woman, looked as though she might be ill with tension, while the man, O'Neill, kept his face impassively calm. If Jochen had not known better he would have assumed the control O'Neill showed on his face was due to a Tok'ra symbiote. He admired the man's strength.  
  
Pernon nodded, and Jacob took his place at the helm.  
  
"Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to work we go," O'Neill muttered.  
  
Jochen glanced at him again, and noticed the glare Carter shot in his direction. Things were not well between them.  
  
* * *  
  
As much as he loved flying, spaceships, space aliens, exploring planets, Star Wars and all of the above, O'Neill couldn't help but feel a little *bored* as he sat against the bulkhead.  
  
"So... how long still?" He asked for what must have been the millionth time.  
  
"Jack, if you ask that question one more time..." Jacob let the question hang in the air, and O'Neill sighed.  
  
Six hours. A woman snakehead answered.  
  
He looked over at her, trying to remember her name.  
  
I am Nicu, Colonel. She smiled gently.  
  
For some totally insane reason, Jack thought of Daniel. And then regretted it instantly. "What about your host?" He tried desperately to blot the images out of his mind, and focusing on the Tok'ra next to him seemed to be the best option.  
  
"Larya." She smiled up at him.  
  
When her eyes weren't flashing gold, they were a nice blue kind of colour, Jack realised as she looked up at him. And her hair was kinda pretty too... a golden blond colour, like Carter's- Damn.  
  
He sighed.  
  
"The journey is almost over." She mistook his sigh, but he didn't correct her.  
  
"Six hours is so not almost over," he muttered. Her laughter tinkled throughout the room, and he gazed at her in surprise. What was this? A Tok'ra with a sense of *humour*?  
  
"When compared to the eighteen hours already past, then it is almost over," she said eventually.  
  
He looked over at her. "You a scientist?" He demanded suspiciously.  
  
"No." She shook her head. "I am not. Nicu is, as is Jochen."  
  
"And you live *willingly* with that?" He asked in disbelief.  
  
"Yes." She nodded, her eyes glinting. "I am now, as Jacob told me, smart without having to learn."  
  
O'Neill shot a look at Jacob before turning back to his current companion. "So... how did you get a sense of humour?"  
  
Once again she burst into laughter. "Is one so unusual, Colonel?"  
  
"No. Well... it depends," he stumbled.  
  
"The world where I come from is fairly well advanced, compared to most civilisations you have encountered," Larya said eventually. "Our culture and enjoyment of laughter is also developed... Added to that, I have spent a fair amount of time in Jacob's company while on various missions."  
  
"That would work on anyone," O'Neill commented, earning another chuckle.  
  
"As, I imagine, would being exposed to your sense of humour for a prolonged period of time."  
  
O'Neill chuckled, relaxing against the bulkhead. "So, do you know any jokes?"  
  
* * *  
  
She glanced over at the bulkhead as once again a peal of laughter sounded through out the ship, coupled with the sound of O'Neill's chuckle.  
  
She wasn't jealous. She really wasn't jealous that it wasn't her sitting next to him, giggling at his lame comments.  
  
No. She wasn't jealous. She knew who he was.  
  
"May I join you?" She looked up, a blush staining her cheeks as she realised someone might have seen her 'interesting' facial expression change over the last couple of minutes.  
  
"I guess." She nodded, shifting away uneasily as the younger Tok'ra male sat down next to her.  
  
"I am Jochen."  
  
"I know." She nodded. She glanced at him, studying his face, trying to remember where she'd seen him... "Do I know you?"  
  
"We have met on several occasions now." He nodded slowly, his eyes slipping from hers.  
  
"Did you know Jolinar?" Maybe that was where the feeling of familiarity lay.  
  
"No. She... she left before I became Tok'ra."  
  
"Oh." She looked at him again.  
  
Golden eyes. Zat gun.  
  
"I know you from somewhere," she stated again. He knew where. She could see it in his eyes.  
  
'You killed him!'  
  
'Major Carter. My name is Yalman. I am Tok'ra.'  
  
Blood on her lips. Concerned brown eyes.  
  
Zat gun.  
  
"You were there."  
  
His head snapped up.  
  
"You were there. You were the one who killed the First Prime when... when..."  
  
"Please..." Jochen begged as she jerked away from him.  
  
She stopped and faced him, licking her lips carefully. "I... I bit you."  
  
He smiled, relief on his features. "You did."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"It's okay." He brushed it off. "I shot you," he added, eyeing her apologetically.  
  
"It's okay." She grinned uncertainly, watching him.  
  
He smiled as well, and leant back against the wall. A comfortable silence fell over them, only broken by the sound of laughter from around the bulkhead.  
  
"May... may I ask you something?"  
  
She glanced over at him. "I guess."  
  
"How... how were you captured?"  
  
She closed her eyes.  
  
'Sir, are you *nuts*?'  
  
'Is that anyway to speak to a commanding officer?'  
  
"I'm sorry," he apologised again.  
  
"No... no. It's okay."  
  
"I should have known better than to ask questions. My curiosity..."  
  
"It's okay."  
  
'They haven't seen us yet, Jack.'  
  
'But they will see us.'  
  
'Not necessarily, O'Neill.'  
  
'For crying out loud, that's not a risk I'm about to take!'  
  
She sighed, staring at the wall. "We... there were... the Jaffa..."  
  
'Sir, if they realise one of us is here, they are going to know the rest of us are here. They're not stupid. They know SG teams have more than one member.'  
  
'They won't know it's an SG team. They won't know it's me.'  
  
'Jack, how do you intend on distracting them without them realising you're from Earth?'  
  
'Daniel, it's either this or wait until one of the villagers blows our cover.'  
  
'Sir...'  
  
'Carter?'  
  
'There are too many of them and too many risks in your plan. If something goes wrong...'  
  
'It won't go wrong.'  
  
'I believe you are incorrect, O'Neill.'  
  
'Well thank you, Mr. Positive.'  
  
'Sir...'  
  
'*Major*'  
  
"Our luck just ran out," she said eventually. "A bad call, some bad luck, too many Jaffa..."  
  
She sighed, turning away from him.  
  
Jochen nodded, realising he'd pushed it too far.  
  
'Sir, this is suicide.'  
  
'Do you have a better plan?'  
  
'We wait.'  
  
'That's not a plan.'  
  
'Sir...'  
  
'It's settled then. Daniel, you dial up as soon as the path's clear.'  
  
'What about you, Jack?'  
  
'What *about* me?'  
  
'I believe Daniel Jackson means how will you return, O'Neill?'  
  
'That's irrelevant.'  
  
'No, it's not...'  
  
'You have your orders, Major. Now follow them.'  
  
Jacob. The voice jerked her out of her memory.  
  
She looked up as the older Tok'ra male, Pernon spoke up.  
  
"What?" Her Dad sounded annoyed. Not surprising considering how many times O'Neill had asked him 'how long still?'. He was such a child sometimes...  
  
We are nearing Genda.  
  
"I know." Jacob sighed.  
  
A feeling of dread and foreboding settled over her.  
  
We will not have time soon, when we approach the Goa'uld region. Pernon continued.  
  
Jacob stood up slowly.  
  
"Jack... Sam." Noise died away and all she was aware of was her father's lips, forming the words that she never wanted to hear. "We have to talk about..."  
  
"No we don't," O'Neill stopped him, his voice jarring in the awkward silence.  
  
Unfortunately we do, Colonel. It is important. We have to discuss the areas best to target.  
  
They fell silent, and Sam was happy he was hidden from her view.  
  
"The factory," O'Neill said curtly.  
  
You are familiar with the factory?  
  
"Yes."  
  
She felt more than saw them turn to her.  
  
Major Carter.  
  
She didn't answer.  
  
You are familiar with the Palace.  
  
Silence.  
  
Will you please assist Larya and Yalman in their mission?  
  
"Sam... please." Jacob's voice broke the silence. "Please."  
  
Flames.  
  
Marching. Cold floors.  
  
Echoes.  
  
Defilement.  
  
Slowly her head dipped. She was betraying herself. "Yes."  
  
~10~  
  
Worrying will not achieve anything.  
  
Jacob sighed, acknowledging the truth in Selmak's words. That didn't mean that he could just *stop* worrying though. He sat back in his chair, silently watching as his daughter huddled against the bulkhead, wishing he wasn't doing this to her.  
  
You are not doing it to her, Jacob. It is the Goa'uld.  
  
Jacob glared with his mind at Selmak, and she respected his irritation enough to keep quiet.  
  
He sighed again, his eyes shifting over to Jack. And the worry in him grew.  
  
Jacob. he looked up to see Pernon standing next to him. Jacob, I know that you are fond of the Tau'ri, and that Samantha is your daughter, but... Perhaps a memory recall device would be more effective and a lot safer to ourselves as well as the humans.  
  
"No." Jacob shook his head. "No. I won't make them witness it all over again. And I won't let everyone else see what they don't want them to see."  
  
Pernon dipped his head in acknowledgement, and then hesitated. Jacob... they are not responding. If they are like this when we land-  
  
"They won't be. I know them, Pernon. I know that they're both strong and-"  
  
You knew them, Jacob. You said yourself that they have both changed much since their imprisonment.  
  
Jacob scowled, and realised that some of the worry burning in him was due to Pernon's argument. "Just because they're not talking doesn't mean that-"  
  
Look at them. Pernon hissed.  
  
They are suffering. Selmak pushed Jacob out of the way. Had you been through what they have been through I doubt you would behave differently.  
  
I do not condemn them for acting as they are, Selmak. I am pointing out that in their unresponsive states they could endanger the entire mission.  
  
"They said they'd help," Jacob snapped. "They said they would. They have too much of a sense of duty in them to be able to just let their own personal fears win. You watch, Pernon. I don't doubt either of them."  
  
And as the words passed over his lips, and his eyes traveled over the two people, each huddling silently and reclusively in their respective corners, he couldn't help but wonder if he was putting his hope on the wrong people.  
  
* * *  
  
MISSION BRIEFING  
  
MISSION:            GENDA  
  
MISSION OBJECTIVES:  
  
                    1) Assist Tok'ra  
  
                    2) Procure prototypes  
  
                    3) Terminate Goa'uld  
  
                    4) Destroy Facility  
  
MISSION DEPARTURE:  1054 hours 2/18/06  
  
SG TEAM:            NO ASSIGNED TEAM.  
  
PERSONS PRESENT:    COLONEL JONATHAN 'JACK' O'NEILL  
  
                    MAJOR SAMANTHA CARTER  
  
* * *  
  
"Ready?" Jacob whispered, his voice harsh and grating against the still night air.  
  
"Ready." Jochen nodded. By the light of the red moons shining down on them, Sam could see the gleam of her bright teeth as Larya grinned in agreement.  
  
They looked at Sam.  
  
She looked down at the red grains of sand already sticking to the palms of her hands from when she had crawled out of the ship and to the cover of the small dune.  
  
"Okay. Sam, you go with Yalman and Larya. Yalman, you know what the MO is. Sam, you show them how to get to all the places he needs to get, okay?"  
  
Sam continued to stare at the sands.  
  
Jacob sighed and turned to Pernon and O'Neill. "You're with me. We'll take out the factory."  
  
"What about the Goa'uld?" Larya hissed, stopping Jacob.  
  
"When the Facility blows we should get him in the blast." Jacob dismissed it.  
  
Sam looked up. Not if this was your usual smarmy-assed Goa'uld. Those things had more resilience against death than a cat had against a bath.  
  
"However, if you do come across him then you can take him out."  
  
Sam shuddered.  
  
"The cosmic grape vine indicates that our last raid here caused an upheaval in the power ladder, so the Goa'uld in charge is a new one. We don't know much about him," Jacob continued. "Is that all?"  
  
Yalman and Larya looked at each other, glanced at Sam, and then nodded.  
  
"Okay then. Let's go."  
  
Silently the four Tok'ra melted towards the dark shadows of the imposing stone walls. Sam hesitated for a fraction of a second. This place. She shuddered, and stepped backwards. And then she realised that O'Neill hadn't moved either. He was standing a little in front of her, gazing at the wall with an indescribable expression on his face.  
  
She stiffened her shoulders and stood up. Determinedly she walked towards the wall. She wouldn't let O'Neill beat her.  
  
Behind her she heard the sand shuffle as he jogged to catch up. Wordlessly, she ran ahead to the Tok'ra.  
  
* * *  
  
It was the smell that got him. Not so much the scenery, the sounds or even the feeling of being imprisoned again. It was the smell.  
  
He gagged, desperately pulling himself upright and trying to hide his sudden fear from his companions.  
  
"You okay, Jack?"  
  
He nodded, not raising his eyes to Jacob.  
  
This was the place where it had all happened. Over a year of his life, wasted here. Viciously he stuffed all the feelings, all the emotions threatening to overpower him into a small, hidden corner of himself. He *wouldn't* let this place beat him.  
  
"Lead on, McDuff." Jacob stepped back.  
  
Jack eyed the empty corridor warily.  
  
Where were the patrols? There were always patrols going past, either guarding or heading somewhere with purpose. Either way, the silence was almost more frightening than facing the guards themselves.  
  
"The packing rooms, Jack. We want to go where the transport rings are," Jacob whispered.  
  
Pernon glared at Jacob, and Jack saw the look. Pernon didn't think he could do it. Pernon thought the Goa'uld had beaten him.  
  
Jack straightened his shoulders. Silently he set off, Zat gun at the ready while he crept along the shadows cast by the flickering torches. It was something he'd never quite figured out. Why, with all the technology possessed by the Goa'uld, this one insisted on using burning torches for light he still couldn't work out. He sniffed, and again the scent entered his nostrils, clogging his mind. But he fought it.  
  
He was stronger than the Goa'uld.  
  
* * *  
  
The smell permeating the corridors made her feel sick, and she marveled that anyone could have survived for more than a year.  
  
Larya remained silent as she followed behind the blond woman while Jochen led them through the maze of dark and stinking tunnels, only the light of the burning torches glinting off the gold walls guided them.  
  
"Is this the way to the lines?" Larya whispered, touching the woman's shoulder to get her attention.  
  
Larya blinked and found herself lying on her back on the floor, the blond woman gazing down at her with blank, expressionless blue eyes.  
  
"What happened?" Jochen hissed, ill-concealed anxiety carrying clearly on his voice.  
  
"I don't know. She threw me!" The Tok'ra complained, rubbing at her head. Nicu soothed the tension in her body quickly, providing a calm that Larya was grateful too. Often in the past her temper had gotten the better of her and she had said things, done things even... But Nicu was a gentle soul, and they were well suited to one another.  
  
"Why?" Jochen turned to the woman, concern in his eyes.  
  
She shrank against the wall, her fair skin glowing with a red hue in the flickering light. Her eyes remained dark and downcast.  
  
"What did you do?" Jochen turned to Larya.  
  
"I asked her if this was the right way..."  
  
"And she threw you?" Jochen frowned in curiosity.  
  
It was fear, Jochen. Larya forgets the woman is returning to place of suffering... She did not expect for us to touch her shoulder. Nicu said softly, looking apologetically at the human still huddling against the wall.  
  
Jochen nodded, understanding flooding through him. Had Major Carter not reacted in a manner similar to that when he had first rescued her? She had bitten him, her only thoughts of defense. It was understandable.  
  
Major Carter, are we headed the right direction towards the assembly lines? Nicu asked gently.  
  
The woman looked, nothing showing in her eyes.  
  
"Please, Samantha, you have to help us," Jochen pleaded, advancing towards her.  
  
She backed away, fear and terror shining in her eyes as the torch light fell upon them.  
  
Larya sighed in frustration.  
  
"It was a possibility," Jochen reminded her calmly. "The maps we studied before we came... we should be able to find it."  
  
"It will take time," Larya hissed. "Time we do not have."  
  
"We will make the time," Jochen said firmly. "Come."  
  
Larya waited until the woman, the Tau'ri was once again between herself and Jochen, Jochen leading the way along the twisted corridor.  
  
A war between disgust and understanding raged internally as she stared at Major Carter's back. Disgust that someone could let themselves be beaten into a submissive, fearful creature. Yet, there was understanding because she knew what the Goa'uld were capable of. Her ancestors were the Goa'uld.  
  
* * * 


	6. chapter 11 and 12

Broken 11 & 12  
  
by Sharim  
  
~11~  
  
Jack stood to one side as Pernon and Jacob planted the explosives.  
  
He eyed the entrances nearby, concerned by the small number of Jaffa guarding the rings. Shouldn't there be more? There had always been more when he'd worked here-  
  
He shook his head.  
  
*When* was the operative word. He didn't work here anymore. Besides, he reasoned, it was night time. All the guards were either sleeping themselves or guarding the prisoners. He shuddered, remembering his chains, and absently rubbing his hands around his scarred wrists.  
  
"That should do it," Jacob whispered, crouching down next to Jack. "Think you can show us the way to the Goa'uld's throne room now?"  
  
Jack nodded mutely. He didn't want to speak. He couldn't remember speaking within these walls. Speaking, arguing... fighting... they had all resulted in punishments. This place was punishment.  
  
He shuddered as he stood up.  
  
"Thanks, Jack." Jacob clapped him lightly on the shoulder, and shot a triumphant look at Pernon.  
  
The Tok'ra said nothing, merely followed Jack and Jacob silently out of the room, his hand tightly clasped around the Zat'nik'tel.  
  
* * *  
  
She was a coward. A mute, terrorised coward.  
  
She huddled tightly against the shadowed wall, refusing to stare at the area where the guards had been zatted.  
  
Larya and Jochen were almost finished planting the explosives, their movements hurried and furtive.  
  
The zat gun in her hands was heavy, the foreign object hanging heavily in her grip.  
  
She wanted to go home. She wanted to leave this place forever. She wanted to leave. NOW.  
  
She rose unsteadily to her feet.  
  
"Major Carter!" Jochen's voice reached her.  
  
She spun around, the zat pointed at him clumsily.  
  
"What are you doing?" Larya hissed, her eyes wide in the firelight.  
  
Sam's hand shook, her aim unsure as she stared. What was she doing?  
  
Slowly she dropped her hand, and with the lowering of her hand her will to stand also left her and she sank slowly to the ground, her zat gun lying discarded next to her while she cradled herself.  
  
"We do not have time for histrionics!" Larya snapped, stalking over.  
  
"Quiet!" Jochen hissed, "Keep guard."  
  
Larya muttered to herself, and walked off.  
  
Sam didn't care. She didn't care that she was having 'histrionics'. She just wanted to go home. She never wanted to come on this damn mission on the first place. Not with the Tok'ra, not with her Dad and *definitely* not with O'Neill.  
  
O'Neill.  
  
'I told you this was a bad plan, Jack.'  
  
'Like waiting would have been any better.'  
  
'It would have, Sir. They weren't even *looking* for us...'  
  
'What do you want me to say?'  
  
'An apology would be nice. Just because you were in a bad mood-'  
  
'I was *not* in a bad mood, Daniel.'  
  
'Yes, you were Jack. And because you were in a bad mood you wouldn't listen to us.'  
  
He was so stubborn, she almost smiled. Stubborn enough to be doing better than her, she realised.  
  
'I'm sorry, okay?'  
  
'It's a bit late now.'  
  
'I'm still sorry.'  
  
'It's okay, Jack. Just... find a way to get us out of here, okay?'  
  
'Okay.'  
  
"He didn't," she whispered.  
  
"Who didn't?" Jochen frowned, staring at the woman.  
  
"He didn't get us out."  
  
* * *  
  
Jacob stopped behind Jack, watching the sudden hesitancy with which the younger man walked.  
  
"What? Is it up ahead?" He asked.  
  
Jack nodded.  
  
"Okay. You coming?" Jacob whispered.  
  
Jack shook his head negative.  
  
"Fine. You wait out here. Yalman and his group should get here soon as well. You get them and get out, okay? Pernon and I will follow you."  
  
Jack hesitated.  
  
"That's an order, Colonel." Jacob raised an eyebrow.  
  
Jack sighed and slumped his shoulders, but Jacob saw the spark of relief in the brown eyes. He'd often, over the years he'd known Jack, wished the man would shut up sometimes. Now, Jack wouldn't talk at all, and Jacob was beginning to wish Jack would open his mouth with a lame joke or a sarcastic comment... This one way conversation was getting a bit tiresome.  
  
Pernon nodded his head briefly at Jack, and Jacob nearly stopped in surprise.  
  
I believe that Pernon has been convinced of O'Neill's strength in character. Selmak almost chuckled.  
  
Jacob smiled and followed Pernon through the doorway.  
  
The room was empty, the large golden throne void of its occupant.  
  
Slowly, Jacob lowered his zat gun. "Will we wait?"  
  
Yes. Pernon nodded, approaching the throne. There are two entrances. We will each take one. When the Goa'uld approaches we will kill him and leave through the second entrance.  
  
Jacob nodded, wisely refraining from commenting about the 'brilliant' plan.  
  
"Well... I do believe they're going to be here. Soon," Jacob added as the unmistakable sounds of approaching Jaffa was heard in the distance.  
  
Silently the Tok'ra took their places in the shadows, their symbiotes keeping their weapon bearing arms steady.  
  
The steps grew louder, clanking grew audible and Jacob's heart rate increased a couple of notches.  
  
Then there was silence.  
  
They heard a Goa'uld speaking, and Jacob's insides suddenly plummeted through the floor. Oh, crap.  
  
A second later the door hissed open and the first of the Jaffa marched through. Followed by Sam, Jochen, Larya and Jack.  
  
He lowered the zat gun, hoping desperately that Pernon would do the same.  
  
And then the Goa'uld entered, only the glowing eyes discernible in the flickering torch light. As the form stepped into the pool of light Jacob nearly had a heart attack.  
  
"Daniel. Good to see you." O'Neill's voice rang out clearly in the silent room.  
  
~12~  
  
"Silence." Daniel - the Goa'uld - held out a hand bearing a ribbon device.  
  
He froze on the spot, eyes widening as he gazed at what used to be one of his best friends.  
  
"You have returned, Jack. For what purpose?" The Goa'uld sneered.  
  
"None of your business," he muttered, waiting for the blow. It came, a second after he'd expected it, knocking his legs out from underneath and sending his knees jarring into the ground. He didn't make a sound.  
  
"And you brought the woman with you. A gift for your god Nel'maka'at, perhaps?" The eyes glowed golden.  
  
He glanced over at Carter, fear filling him. No. No, that was the last thing he'd wanted to do!  
  
"She was a pleasant, if somewhat spirited, experience last time. Do you remember, Jack?"  
  
Flickering.  
  
Flesh.  
  
Shadows on pale, bruised skin.  
  
Her eyes.  
  
She was crying.  
  
Daniel- NO!  
  
He remained silent, not breaking his watch of the Goa'uld.  
  
"And you have brought me another gift also." Nel'maka'at reached out a pale, soft hand and gripped the underside of Larya's chin, lifting her face to the light so that he could see her. "She is also fine. You have always had 'a thing' for blond woman with blue eyes, have you not?"  
  
Jack swallowed.  
  
Sara.  
  
Sam.  
  
"They are beautiful." The Goa'uld let go, turning to study Jochen. "This... a Tok'ra?"  
  
You will die.  
  
Jack nearly winced as Yalman's words sent spittle flying into the Goa'ulds face.  
  
It was, he sighed internally, the hardest thing: Looking at Daniel, hearing Daniel's voice... but knowing that it wasn't Daniel anymore. Because of him.  
  
Nel'maka'at laughed, his head lolling backwards and long, silky smooth brown blond hair spilling over the covered shoulders. "This one... he believes he will escape."  
  
Eyes flashed gold.  
  
"No one escapes Nel'maka'at."  
  
"Uh... wrong there. We already have once," Jack blurted out.  
  
The Goa'uld whirled around, glaring at him. "That was not Nel'maka'at, insolent fool. It was with your escape and the destruction wrought by the Tok'ra that I rose to power within the Facility. Now, I am a powerful system lord. I owe you a debt of gratitude."  
  
Jack's heart stopped beating in his chest as the Goa'uld ambled over to where Carter was huddling on the ground.  
  
"Perhaps... perhaps Sam will enjoy payment."  
  
"Leave her alone!" Jack was up and running towards the Nel'maka'at before anyone registered what he was doing. "I won't have you hurt her again!"  
  
Nel'maka'at spun around, eyes flashing furiously and ribbon device glowing as he raised his hand. "You dare speak to your god like that!"  
  
"You're not my god!" Jack screamed, launching himself towards the Goa'uld.  
  
He didn't stand a chance as the energy wave struck him, picking him up and throwing him limply against the wall like a rag doll. His chest was on fire, flames burning in his throat as his head tried to get past the throbbing.  
  
Dimly, in the background, he heard shouting and the sounds of zat'nik'tels being discharged... but all he could focus on was the pain as the white hot ribbon seared into his forehead.  
  
'I'm sorry, Carter. Speak to me, damn it. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry, Sam.'  
  
'Get your hands off me, Sir.'  
  
'Carter...'  
  
'Forget it.'  
  
'Sam...'  
  
'Don't 'Sam' me, Colonel. It's your fault. All of it. And now...'  
  
* * *  
  
He was going to die.  
  
'I'm sorry, Sam'  
  
It hadn't been his fault. But... She swallowed.  
  
She couldn't watch him die. Even if she hated him. Even if it was his fault that they were captured.  
  
"SAM!" Her father's voice cut through the air, desperate.  
  
She looked over at him, his Zat gun working over time as the Jaffa around him fell to the ground. "Get Jack!"  
  
She looked back at the Colonel. His face was pale...  
  
She remembered the pain of the ribbon device. He'd saved her from one, once, long ago when Hathor had still been-  
  
She picked up a staff weapon, swallowing it as she pointed it at Daniel's back.  
  
Only, it wasn't Daniel. Daniel would never have hurt Jack. Daniel would never have murdered Teal'c. Daniel would never have hurt her. Daniel would never have raped her, or forced Jack to watch.  
  
"Do it!" Jochen yelled out.  
  
She squeezed.  
  
Daniel's body stiffened, his arm hanging in position for a second as the glow died.  
  
And then he crumpled the ground like a sand castle kicked apart by spiteful children.  
  
The staff weapon clattered to the ground in the deathly silent hall.  
  
She realised she was sobbing as she broke out of her dreamlike state and ran to Daniel's side. He was alive, his face oddly pale and his lips colourless as he fought for breath.  
  
"Daniel... I'm sorry, Daniel." She whispered, her tears dripping onto his ashen face.  
  
His eyes flickered open slowly, glowed briefly and then dimmed. She let go of him. It wasn't Daniel. Even in his last minutes, it wasn't Daniel.  
  
"NO!" She screamed angrily, backing away.  
  
"Sam."  
  
She froze.  
  
"Sam... I'm sorry. I hurt you… I… God… Teal'c…"  
  
Sam threw herself forwards, hands clutching desperately at his clammy face. "It's okay. It's okay... it wasn't you. Oh… shit… I shot you!" She babbled hysterically.  
  
"I'm dying, Sam," he whispered, his eyes slipping shut.  
  
"NO. No, Daniel, don't you dare die, not now!" She begged, shaking his head to keep him awake.  
  
"Thank you," he whispered, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth.  
  
"NO!" She howled, rocking on her knees.  
  
"Anything is better than what I was." Daniel coughed weakly. "Thank you."  
  
He coughed again, and she could see the life starting to seep out of his body.  
  
"Where's Jack?"  
  
She stiffened, looking down at his closed eyes in disbelief.  
  
"You want *him*?"  
  
"Yes." Daniel tried to nod, but his head barely shifted in her loose hold. "Not... fault."  
  
"Yes," she hissed, anger shooting through her. "It was his fault."  
  
"Mistake. Happen..."  
  
"It was my fault," a voice rasped next to her ear. She jerked away, letting Daniel's head fall to the ground with a sickening crack. "I'm sorry."  
  
"S'okay." Daniel coughed. "I sorry... too."  
  
"Daniel..." She looked at O'Neill. And she saw anguish in his eyes.  
  
"Sha're..." A smile flitted across Daniel's face, his eyelids flickered once and then he was gone.  
  
* * *  
  
"NO! Daniel..."  
  
Jacob put his arms carefully around his daughter, squeezing her shoulders gently as she rocked over the still body.  
  
"Sam..."  
  
"NO! I killed him, Daddy. I killed my best friend..."  
  
Her body was shaking, jerking violently beneath his hands.  
  
"Sam... we have to go now," he crooned, pulling her close to him.  
  
Her fingers clutched at the rough cloth he wore, tightening her hold on him. "No," she whispered, "No." But she was a beaten woman, and when he picked her up and held her close in his arms, carrying her out of the room, she offered no protest except her ragged breathing and the continued whispering of the word 'no'.  
  
O'Neill wasn't much better.  
  
Jacob was sure his ribs were broken, a burnt, raw mark on his forehead telling of the force with which the ribbon device had bore down on him. But he refused to accept help. Instead, he tenderly carried the limp body of his dead friend, cradling Daniel in his arms as he might have done with his own son.  
  
Jacob sighed, watching as Larya and Jochen clutched at each other, both wide eyed with shock and the numbing hold of battle. Pernon shuffled along, his shoulders slumped, an undefeated sorrow in his eyes.  
  
It had been hard. It would still be hard.  
  
Should we not be concerned about Jaffa? Pernon realised, lifting his head. But his movements lacked enthusiasm or genuine concern, and Jacob shook his head irritably.  
  
"Yes." He felt like kicking himself. "Jochen, you and Larya watch our front. Pernon, take our six."  
  
Pernon raised an eyebrow and waited until Jacob had passed him, silently falling into step at the back.  
  
"The explosives should detonate soon," Larya said softly, her hand shaking as she gripped the zat'nik'tel tightly.  
  
"We're almost out." Jacob squeezed Sam lightly, but she didn't move. He glanced down and by the flickering torch light he realised she was asleep.  
  
The Teltak was waiting where they left it, a silent shadow lying deathly still behind the dunes. Jacob paused for a second, smiling to himself. The ship had always, for some bizarre reason, reminded him of a tortoise. He shook his head, glancing over at Jack. Seemed like Jack's habit of putting humour in a bad situation was catching.  
  
Selmak!  
  
Jacob and Selmak looked up, startled.  
  
A second later the earth shook and his shadow was thrown across the dunes, his back hit with a blast of heat. He staggered in the sand, the grains spraying around like burning chips of fire as the hot air rushed past him, drying out his skin.  
  
Only once his feet thudded dully on the metal floor of the Teltak did he pause and turn around to look. The Facility was in flames. Everywhere he looked he could see walls crumbling and flames leaping excitedly into the air.  
  
Streams of people, guards and prisoners alike, flooded from it, dragging the injured and screaming.  
  
He felt a momentary pang of guilt; hadn't Sam and Jack been prisoners there? He could easily have been blowing them up now if he hadn't found them before. And what about Teal'c?  
  
He turned to the woman in his arms again, and turned his back towards the destruction.  
  
"Pernon, get us out of here."  
  
* * * 


	7. chapter 13 and 14

Broken 13 & 14  
  
by Sharim  
  
~13~  
  
He watched silently as they tended the body, playing around with their little doohickeys to make sure that Daniel was definitely dead. To make sure the Goa'uld inside Daniel was definitely.  
  
He dry-retched as they talked; coldly and detachedly. They hadn't known Daniel. They hadn't known the kind of person he had been. If they had...  
  
Jack kicked the wall. Hard. The dull clank echoed around the room, and they turned to look at him, startled by his violence.  
  
"Jack... you should probably get some rest." A hand was place on his shoulder. A caring hand. Jacob's hand. The father of the woman he hadn't been able to help still cared about him. He didn't deserve this. "Jack?"  
  
He sighed, and slowly turned to look at Jacob.  
  
How could Jacob possibly understand? How could Jacob possibly even guess at what they had been through?  
  
'Daniel! NO! Daniel, don't let him do this, please!'  
  
'The host is no more. Your pleas will have part...'  
  
'Daniel... Daniel, NO! TEAL'C!'  
  
'Sir, do something!'  
  
'I'm trying... DANIEL!! DAMN YOU, NO!'  
  
"Come on, Jack." Jacob's eyes were tired, Jack realised dully. Silently he turned and allowed Jacob to lead him out of the room and into another one.  
  
On the bed in the far corner, he could make out an unmoving form. Carter. It could only be her, everyone else was accounted for. But, instead of feeling the uneasiness, the shame and the guilt, he only felt an overwhelming rush of despair.  
  
He hadn't been able to help her when she needed it most. He was no use to her anymore.  
  
"Sleep, Jack."  
  
Carter didn't move, she didn't indicate that she knew he was in the room. He knew she was aware though, she was too good a soldier to have slept through their entry and Jacob's talking.  
  
Mutely he allowed Jacob to lead him to the second bed and sat down on it slowly.  
  
"Good night."  
  
He watched as Jacob exited, closing the door with a slight hiss behind his stunted form.  
  
The sheets were rough and cold. They were clean.  
  
He lay down, not even removing his shoes, and looked up at the roof, ignoring the pain in his chest. Maybe, if he was lucky, Jacob would do something with that nifty healing device.  
  
Across the room, he heard Carter shifting on the bed. "I... I'm sorry. Sir," she whispered.  
  
He jerked upright, watching her with wide eyes. She was lying on her side, her hands clasped beneath her head as she watched him through tired, blue eyes.  
  
"For... for what?" He croaked out.  
  
"Killing him," she whispered, pulling her hands out from underneath her head and sitting upright. She didn't remove her eyes from him though, staring intently into his own as they battled the silence.  
  
"You... you didn't have a choice, Carter," he said gruffly, also sitting up awkwardly.  
  
She looked down then, studying the unmoving hands clasped in her lap. He looked at them also.  
  
Long ago, before they'd gotten captured, he'd loved looking at her hands. Everything she did, from drinking coffee to writing to working on a doohickey... even just when she was explaining something to him... they'd always moved gracefully and gently, always betraying the femininity she often tried to hide behind her military uniform.  
  
They were hands that had saved the world countless times. They were hands that had pushed back strands of hair from Cassie's forehead when she was scared. They were hands that had held his own, encouraging him to fight and get better.  
  
And they were hands that had killed Daniel.  
  
As the realisation struck him, it also seemed to strike her, and she struggled off the bed suddenly, drawing in sharp, ragged breaths as she tried to run.  
  
"Carter!" He called, flying off the bed to help her. His ribs protested sorely, and he remembered that they were probably broken. But that didn't stop him from rushing after her, and skidding to a halt beside her when she staggered to a stop in the hallway and clutched at a wall for support.  
  
As his hands closed over her arm, she threw up, her body shuddering violently. He held her while she threw up, steadying her and keeping her upright until there was nothing left inside her. But her body kept retching and she kept crying, choking sobs that churned him up so badly inside that *he* felt like crying.  
  
He was crying, he realised dimly.  
  
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, turning her around to face him and wiping her mouth with the tattered sleeve of his BDU. "I'm so sorry, Carter. I'm sorry."  
  
"I know," She gasped, pressing her body close against his. "I know."  
  
And he held her tightly while she cried, brushing the hair back from her face and dropping feather light kisses on her temple.  
  
"I love you," he whispered.  
  
She didn't answer, but she didn't move out of his hold. They stood like that for some time, her fingers digging into his back and her head buried against his neck as though she never wanted to move.  
  
He honestly didn't mind.  
  
Eventually, when their legs were shaking and their strength too far gone for them to stand any longer, they moved silently back to the room.  
  
He felt a pang of guilt for leaving the mess in the hallway, but as Sam curled up in a ball next to him, her hand lightly resting on his injured ribs, he pushed the feeling away and closed his eyes.  
  
* * *  
  
MISSION REPORT  
  
MISSION:                GENDA  
  
MISSION OBJECTIVES:  
  
                        1) Assist Tok'ra  
  
                        2) Procure prototypes  
  
                        3) Terminate Goa'uld  
  
                        4) Destroy Facility  
  
MISSION DEPARTURE:      1054 hours 2/18/06  
  
SG TEAM:                NO ASSIGNED TEAM.  
  
PERSONS PRESENT:        COLONEL JONATHAN 'JACK' O'NEILL  
  
                        MAJOR SAMANTHA CARTER  
  
STATUS:                 MISSION COMPLETED  
  
COMMENTS:               During mission, DR. DANIEL JACKSON, was  
  
                          found to have been implanted with a   
  
                          Goa'uld. His death was an unfortunate  
  
                          casualty. No sign of Teal'c was found.  
  
                          Facility was completed destroyed.  
  
                          Prototypes of four (4) weapons were        
  
                          procured.  
  
* * *  
  
They hadn't said a word. Not to each other and not to any of the people they'd been exposed to since they'd returned.  
  
Now they were sleeping, both sedated.  
  
Janet watched them, their faces strangely expressionless in the induced slumber.  
  
"How are they doing?"  
  
She turned to the Tok'ra next to her, consulting her papers before answering.  
  
"The Colonel had several fractured ribs, but you took pretty good care of those on board the ship. Sam didn't have any injuries."  
  
Jacob nodded, watching them.  
  
"She killed him, you know," he said eventually, his eyes never leaving Sam.  
  
"I know," Janet whispered.  
  
"He would have killed the Colonel. I didn't think she'd save... she hated him."  
  
Janet shook her head, a smile on her face. "I don't think so. I don't think they could hate each other if they tried."  
  
Jacob smiled in return, resignation on his features. "They tried hard enough."  
  
"They failed, obviously."  
  
They fell into silence again.  
  
"Will Daniel be given a proper burial?" He asked eventually.  
  
"I hope so." Janet sighed, her shoulders slumping. "They... they're examining him first, doing the usual observations on the Goa'uld physiology and-"  
  
"I know," Jacob said shortly.  
  
"But... they should be satisfied in a few days. Then... then he'll probably get the burial."  
  
They watched as Sam shifted in her sleep, a frown momentarily flitting across her face before she relaxed again.  
  
"We didn't find any sign of Teal'c."  
  
"I doubt he's alive," Janet said softly. Jacob glanced at her, startled. She caught the glance, and sighed before continuing. "They would never have allowed one of their own to stay imprisoned in that place if they were free."  
  
"But Daniel-"  
  
"Daniel hurt them," Janet said gently. "Not necessarily Daniel... but it was Daniel's body. You... you told me the basics of what you've gathered happened. About the Colonel being forced to watch while-"  
  
"Yes," Jacob snapped, reluctant to think about what Janet was saying.  
  
"They must have thought there was no possible way of saving him," she finished off.  
  
"But..." Jacob protested.  
  
"Their morale was - still is - lower than it's ever been. They ran out of luck, Jacob. They got caught. They paid for it. They didn't think they'd ever get out of it. They did get out, and they were grateful. They didn't want to push their luck."  
  
"Whatever happened to no one gets left behind?" Jacob nearly yelled.  
  
"I don't know. Daniel... Daniel was effectively dead because of the Goa'uld in him."  
  
"And Teal'c?"  
  
"We can only guess," Janet said eventually.  
  
Jacob watched as the two soldiers lay sleeping, and desperately fought against the disappointment inside him. They'd left Daniel behind. How could they do that to one of their own?  
  
* * *  
  
MISSION REPORT  
  
MISSION:            P32 901  
  
MISSION OBJECTIVES:  
  
                    1) Evaluate Planet  
  
                    2) Meet with Natives  
  
                    3) Negotiate possible treaties  
  
MISSION DEPARTURE:  0900 hours 7/7/04  
  
SG TEAM:            SG-1  
  
PERSONS PRESENT:    COLONEL JONATHAN 'JACK' O'NEILL  
  
                    MAJOR SAMANTHA CARTER  
  
                    DR. DANIEL JACKSON  
  
                    TEAL'C  
  
STATUS:             INCOMPLETE  
  
COMMENTS:           Upon arrival inhabitants were friendly. The  
  
                      Nylans were a hospitable, though primitive  
  
                    people, willing to share what they had. No  
  
                    evidence of recent contact with the Goa'uld.  
  
   
  
                    During the course of the first evening  
  
                      Goa'uld motherships arrived. Jaffa were  
  
                    present in great numbers. A strategic  
  
                    decision to evacuate was made. A judgment and  
  
                      command error by myself (Colonel Jonathan  
  
                    'Jack' O'Neill) resulted in the capture of  
  
                    SG-1.  
  
   
  
                    SG-1 was then shipped to a prison Facility  
  
                      known as 'Genda'. Dr. Jackson was infested by  
  
                    a Goa'uld. The Goa'uld Nel'maka'at was  
  
                    responsible for the death of Teal'c. Major  
  
                    Samantha Carter was severely abused (sexually,  
  
                    physically and mentally).I (Colonel Jonathan  
  
                    'Jack' O'Neill) was physically and mentally  
  
                    abused.  
  
~14~  
  
"Hi." Her voice startled him, she could see it in the way he spun around and faced her, ready for a show down.  
  
"Hi," he returned awkwardly, thrusting his hands into his pockets.  
  
She licked her lips, her eyes resting on the smooth gravestone. "I... I thought I might find you here."  
  
He didn't say anything; he just turned back to the gravestone and studied it. She moved forward, until she was standing next to him, her elbow brushing against his arm.  
  
"We left him behind, Sam," he whispered hoarsely.  
  
Unbidden her hand crept into his, her fingers squeezing his gently.  
  
"And... and we didn't even want to go back."  
  
She didn't say anything. She couldn't say anything. It was the truth, and they both knew it.  
  
"I... I wanted to go back. In a way," she admitted.  
  
He nodded, understanding.  
  
"But at the same time... I kept remembering... I kept remembering what he - what *it* - said." She shuddered.  
  
His hand squeezed hers, holding on tightly. "I kept remembering what it did," he said softly.  
  
She froze, her fingers stiffening in his.  
  
"And... and I didn't want to go back because... because I was scared of letting it beat me again."  
  
She looked at him, hesitation and wariness in her eyes. She was ready to run, but his fingers trapping hers kept her securely at his side.  
  
"You..."  
  
"I couldn't help you, Sam," he whispered, turning to her. "I made a bad call, and it got us in trouble. You all paid big time for my bad mood."  
  
She licked her lips, shivering in the cool air. "I..." And she stopped. She couldn't say anything to that either.  
  
They stood in silence, both looking down at the grave.  
  
"He said he forgave you," she said eventually, her voice uncertain.  
  
Jack sighed. Forgiven.  
  
"I don't think I could ever forgive myself," he admitted.  
  
She studied the freshly carved letters on the stone. "No, I didn't think you'd be able to," she agreed softly.  
  
"Can you?"  
  
"What, forgive you?" She didn't look at him; instead she looked down at their interlinked fingers. "Yes."  
  
His fingers tightened on hers briefly, before relaxing to fall away.  
  
"But I doubt I can forgive myself."  
  
He faced her, surprised. "You didn't do anything."  
  
"I know. That's why... I should have done something help him. Or-"  
  
"No," he said firmly, turning to her and cradling her cheek in one hand.  
  
She leant into his hold, raising her free hand up to his and holding his hand against her face. "I... I wanted you to help me. I wanted you to save me," she whispered.  
  
His hand shook against her cheek.  
  
"I wanted you to save all of us," she continued.  
  
"I couldn't."  
  
"No. You couldn't save Teal'c. You couldn't save Daniel." She hesitated.  
  
"I couldn't save you either."  
  
"But that doesn't matter," she said firmly, raising her eyes to meet his. "It doesn't matter that you couldn't save us. We couldn't save ourselves either. We couldn't save you..."  
  
"But it's my responsibility-"  
  
"Bullshit, Jack," she snapped, her eyes flashing. "You had a duty to us, to lead us. And you led us. Duty fulfilled. The rest, the caring, the friendship... that was an extra you gave us. You gave us *everything*, Jack. You risked yourself to get us off that planet, but they were stronger than us and that's all that got us caught. Not bad leadership, not you."  
  
He pulled away from her, his eyes masked and distant.  
  
"I couldn't save Teal'c either. I *killed* Daniel, damn it. So don't you go playing the martyr and taking all the blame."  
  
He turned to her, anger blazing in his eyes.  
  
"You want to fight about this? You want to fight about who gets the most blame?"  
  
"No." She shook her head, backing down. "I'm not. I'm just... I'm trying to get past the guilt and blame."  
  
"It doesn't seem like that to me."  
  
"Because you're not listening."  
  
He almost howled in frustration. "Then what are you saying?"  
  
She paused, calming herself. "Do... do you remember what Teal'c said... before.. he... before-"  
  
"Before Daniel killed him."  
  
"Nel'maka'at. It wasn't Daniel."  
  
"I know." Jack winced. No, it hadn't been Daniel. But...  
  
"He... he said he died free."  
  
"He's always saying that. Only, he didn't usually *die*."  
  
She couldn't stop the smile on her face. "He was freer then than we are now."  
  
Jack looked at her, an eyebrow raised. "We were in *prison*, Carter..."  
  
"I know. But... but he knew it wasn't our fault. He kept telling us that."  
  
"What are you trying to say?"  
  
"I don't know. That... that maybe Janet and McKenzie are right. That maybe we're putting too much blame on ourselves for what happened."  
  
"We left them behind, Major."  
  
"It's Lieutenant Colonel now," she said absently. "And no, we didn't leave them behind."  
  
"We didn't?"  
  
"Teal'c... Teal'c was already dead, Sir. We both know that."  
  
"But Daniel wasn't-"  
  
"No, he wasn't. But realistically, even if we had gone back, what chance was there of us getting him."  
  
"It doesn't matter what chance it was, we never took the chance is what matters."  
  
Sam sighed in frustration.  
  
"He... he forgave us, Jack," Sam whispered to his back, wrapping her arms around herself. "How... how can you expect me to forgive myself and move on if you won't forgive me?"  
  
"I have forgiven you," he said shortly.  
  
"But you blame yourself."  
  
He nodded.  
  
She closed her eyes. "Jack, I don't blame you. I did at first, but... but I was scared. And I had to blame someone. Daniel forgave you, Sir. We *did* go back for him, no matter how reluctantly. We *were* given a choice. Either give the Tok'ra the help they needed before hand, or go with them. We *both* went with."  
  
Jack swallowed, his eyes burning as they rested on the gravestone.  
  
"It... it took too long," he whispered eventually, his shoulders slumping.  
  
Sam swallowed. "No, Sir. You technically should never have been allowed back-"  
  
"Because of my knees," he said spitefully.  
  
"Yes. But... I was on duty for almost four months before..."  
  
"It's not your fault, Carter."  
  
She appeared in front of him, tears in her eyes. "I know that. It's still hard... but it's what I'm trying to show you."  
  
He studied her, the way her lip quivered and her hands were clenched into tight fists.  
  
"They're both dead, Sir. And we feel guilty because we both got out alive-" She broke down, choking back a sob. "But... but what makes me feel even more guilty is that-"  
  
"Don't," he begged, holding his hands up as if to stop her.  
  
"Is that I'm happy it's *you* that survived with me. *That's* what makes me feel guilty... because I'm so happy it wasn't you that was a Goa'uld and that hurt me like that... that it wasn't you that killed Teal'c... That you're still alive with me."  
  
His hands fell to his sides, his fists clenched. "Why?" His voice was strangled.  
  
"Because... because of what you said on the Cargo Ship when we came back... that... that you loved me." She choked over the words.  
  
His arms were around her in a second, clutching her tightly against himself. "I know."  
  
"And I feel bad, I feel disgusting for feeling *happy* about something like that, but I do feel it," she whispered.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Happy that you're alive. So that I can tell you I love you too."  
  
He shuddered against her, and she felt the wet heat of his silent tears against her ears.  
  
The sun had set, but they were still standing there, arms wrapped around each other, refusing to let go.  
  
* * *  
  
TO:             General George Hammond, USAF  
  
FROM:           Colonel Jonathan 'Jack' O'Neill  
  
RE:             Retirement  
  
   
  
Hey George,  
  
Retirement's great. Fishing's going swell - I even bought myself a dog. I got my official papers in the mail today. Just wanted to say thanks for the ride - it's been a wild one (and no, I wasn't quoting you there).  
  
Well... I guess this is it. I'll be up at my cabin for at least another month, but when I come home I'll expect you over for a BBQ!  
  
Jack  
  
P.S. If Janet asks, Carter's fine, and you probably won't see her for a month either.  
  
* * *  
  
The end  
  
Completed: 4 June 2002  
  
Thanks for the reviews, the feedback, EVERYTHING!! You all ROCK!! 


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